


Prelude to Takeoff

by Regularity



Series: Carol Danvers: S.H.I.E.L.D. Intern [1]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain Marvel (2019), Captain Marvel (Marvel Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, Gen, Punk, Slice of Life, before the movie, fauxhawk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-07-11 03:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15964151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Regularity/pseuds/Regularity
Summary: In the late 1980s, just a couple years prior to his death, Howard Stark meets a teenage Carol Danvers, long before she's an Air Force pilot or the superpowered hero Captain Marvel. She's just a rebellious teen, and yet Howard can see she has the potential to be so much more. Carol Danvers gets swept up in the machinations of S.H.I.E.L.D. from an early age.





	1. Stark Meets Danvers

**Author's Note:**

> This is technically the first ever fanfic I've written. No idea what I'm doing, but I love the character of Carol Danvers and am very excited to see her in live action! This little snippet is just a brief conception of how I could see Carol getting wrapped up in secret agencies and StarForce. It was also a direct response to the set photos of Carol in the Captain Marvel movie, none of which had her iconic tall hair or fauxhawk, but boring generic "Marvel Lady" hair. 
> 
> It's just a cute little meeting between Howard Stark and Carol Danvers, family friendly and generally conceived as a pre-credits sequence in the upcoming movie. I'll add more scenes of Carol getting wrapped up in SHIELD as they occur to me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard Stark meets Carol Danvers, a rebellious youth who has snuck Into the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility Howard's lab is at. His curiosity gets the better of him and he goes to meet her in person rather than have her arrested.

Howard Stark is running late for a gala. He is always running late for something, but since no gathering ever begins without him, is he ever truly late for anything? He needs a few minutes to change out of his lab coat and get into his tux, but by his assistant’s calculations, he’ll be ten minutes late if he leaves twenty minutes ago. He’s running down, his wife says. Old age will do that to you. But Peggy still gets around like she’s only 40 and he’ll be damned if he lets her show him up. Again. For the tenth time.

He’s working on drag coefficients for the new prototype. There’s something about the whole design that’s just out of reach to make it functional instead of shaking apart when it’s going faster than humans can stand. His peers tell him it can’t be done, but he knows better. He’s seen people shrink, super soldiers, dark matter manipulation. A jet that defies physics should be no big deal.

His intercom beeps insistently again, and he scoffs, pressing the button to speak back. “I’m going, I’m going. Gather my files and have them in my briefcase in a few minutes.”

Jane, his assistant, answers from the intercom. “Mr. Stark, I’m afraid your attendance at the gala is canceled.”

“Canceled? Who has the authority to change my schedule? You know what, don’t answer that. No one does. What’s this about?”

Jane says, “There’s a, um, private matter for you to deal with. Protocol ‘Tiny T’.”

Howard groans and stands up. “What’s he done now? I swear, if they let him into the fiber optics bay again, I’m gonna tie him down with the cables myself.”

She clears her throat. “It’s the second category of ‘Tiny T’, Mr. Stark. Your son is safely tucked away in France.”

Second instance? “France? Who let him go to France? Ugh, he’s gonna come back with all kinds of Francy ideas, isn’t he?”

“I’m sure he will, Mr. Stark. The subject is locked down in Test Dock 03.”

“And we’re sure this is a ‘Tiny T’ situation? Honest to goodness? I don’t want another assassination attempt on file.”

“I think you can rest assured that this is not an assassination attempt.”

“Thanks, Jane. Uh, can you let my wife know I’ll be late?”

"I’ll tell her you’re quarantined, Mr. Stark.”

“I knew there was a reason I paid you too much. Or is it not enough? Give yourself a raise. You said it was Test Dock 03?”

*****

Howard checks in with Security before approaching the flight docks, men in combat armor behind him. Not only is it a kid, it’s a girl, with a thick mohawk of blonde hair several inches off her head and more metal in her face and ears than an engine block. Maybe that’s an exaggeration. She has a brown leather jacket and a pair of ripped jeans, the cuffs of which are stuffed into the tops of steel-toe boots. Howard straightens his lab coat and presses the intercom button, watching her on the security feed. She’s inside one of the experimental jets, the fast one, locked in an aft compartment far from the cockpit. How in hell did she get in?

“Let me guess; this isn’t where you parked your… skateboard?” he asks.

She jumps at the disembodied voice, but covers it quickly with a defiant glare at nothing. Her mouth moves, but the feed doesn’t have audio.

Howard says, “Look, honey, if you wanna curse at me, press the big blue button on the wall behind you.”

She flips off the camera with a snarl and goes to the button. What follows is an inventive string of things he can do to and with himself. Howard laughs uproariously before he remembers to turn off the intercom.

“That’s good,” he says after a moment. “Oh, I’m gonna have to remember those. There’s some stuffed shirts in board meetings who won’t know what hit ‘em.”

“You can bill me,” the punk girl says. Her leather jacket is worn and faded, but it looks almost like a leather bomber jacket from the Second War. With her back to the security feed, Howard sees a pinup on the back of the jacket, but it’s unlike any he’s ever seen before: “Salvo Sam” emblazoned across the top in big, bold letters. “Sam” in this case is a big hunky beefcake toting missiles where his arms should be. It’s crude, but a good imitation of the sexy pinups of eras past.

Who is this girl?

“Got a name, sweetie?”

“Not one I’m willing to share with someone who calls me ‘honey’ and ‘sweetie’.”

Howard grins. “I can call the MPs if you like.”

Her posture shifts, defiant. “It’s not like you can do anything to me. I’m a minor.”

“Minor pain in my-”

“Danvers,” she answers over him. “Carol Danvers.”

“Well, Miss Danvers, I think you should carefully consider being nicer to the voice inside the box. I’m the only thing between you and a dark hole right now.”

“Can you just call my folks so I can get ‘arrested’ and grounded already? This place’s no fun when you shut down all the toys.”

He hesitates before answering. He wants a cigarette. “You have no idea what you’ve stumbled into.”

She glances around. “I know this isn’t standard-issue military. I know that whatever this is-” She raps a knuckle against the metal wall. “-isn’t aluminum. Maybe titanium? Dealing with the weight and creep factors has to be interesting. And I know this symbol isn’t a publicly acknowledged government group even though you’re in a government building on federal land.” She doesn’t even know she’s in a S.H.I.E.L.D. R&D facility?

She seems to consider this last bit and frowns. “I’m in a lot more trouble than I thought, aren’t I?”

“What does a kid know about titanium creep?”

She grins, but Howard can see fear and tension in her eyes. “What’s it worth to you, Oh Great and Powerful Oz?”

Howard turns to the security detail standing around behind him. “I think you can safely buzz off. I’m gonna let her out.”

The leader says, “She's a criminal. And she doesn’t have the proper security clearances!” Interesting how the second of those is what matters more to this security guy.

Howard waves that away. "She's a dumb kid who did a dumb thing. No worse than Tony taking a canister of sealant and gluing all your shoes to the wall." He stifles a grin at that.

“Look, I’ll take responsibility for any breaches. Including the one where all of you let a teenage girl sneak into an experimental flight bay and get onto a jet that could level half a city.”

They consider this and the leader of the detail nods. “We’ll be just outside if she tries anything.”

As they leave, Howard inputs the code that releases the locks on the whole area. The door Carol came through slides open and Howard says into the intercom, “You can come out. The gun goons are gone.” He enables two-way video and shows her that it’s just him, that he’s unarmed, and something of an old man.

He steps into Test Dock 03, hands above his head, and she peers around the corner of the door she’s hesitating to come out of.

He says, “You know an awful lot about aeronautics for just some kid.”

She steps out, defensive, ready to run, but shrugs before her eyes focus in on him. “Hot damn, you’re _him_.”

“Howard Stark, at your service.” He gives her his patented Stark grin. “I was almost insulted you didn’t recognize me on the video feed.”

“Camera adds ten pounds and maybe a few years,” she says. It is clear she wants to approach him, but hesitates because of the danger she’s in.

Howard shrugs. “That’s just something old divas say to excuse their lack of discipline around a good crafty.”

She hides a smile behind a nose scratch and pulls a folded magazine from the back pocket of her ripped jeans. Howard’s bright, charming smile stares back at him from the cover. “This isn’t a very good article about you, you know. Doesn’t say a single word about top secret experimental jets made of….” She trails off, putting the magazine back in her pocket.

“Titanium alloy; aluminum, vanadium, and something we tend to just call ‘unobtainium’. There’s not a lot of it, but it has interesting properties that make it ideal for… let’s call it extra-space adventures.”

They start sort of pacing around each other in a circle. Keeping distance, but maintaining interest. Tony would love this girl, he realizes. Rebellious, takes no shit from his old man, whip-crack smart, dangerously brave.

They should never, ever meet.

She says, “Extra-space sounds like something you just made up. We already have outer space, dude.”

“Who says I’m talking about outer space, dar- Danvers?” he corrects. “How did you get in here undetected, and why?”

Her shoulders lift and fall, her boots thumping against the painted concrete as she walks, her hands buried in her jacket pockets. Probably looking for an escape route.

“If I answer you, will that get me closer to the exit?”

“Tit for tat, as they say.”

“Quid pro quo.”

“At this stage, Miss Danvers, you’ll be lucky to leave at all. S.H.I.E.L.D. has facilities for spies and thieves, and you’re gonna have a hard time convincing anyone you’re not both.”

Her face twists into an impressed frown. “Threatening a teenage girl. That must be the real fascist inside.”

He laughs in her face so hard she drops back into a defensive stance, then turns beet red and calls him an impolite name.

When he can control himself, Howard says, “I have been called many things in my time, some of them by you already this evening. But never a fascist. Do you forget, Carol Danvers, I fought the Nazis just like everyone else in World War II?”

She composes herself as she considers this. “Just ‘cause you fought them doesn’t mean you aren’t the same, underneath it all.”

“We should change the subject, Miss Danvers. You’ve only been a fool when you spout this punk propaganda.”

She mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like “fascist pig”, but Howard lets it go. Tony probably mutters the same thing about his father.

“So.” He gestures for her to continue.

“So what?”

“How did you get in, and why did you risk it?”

Her shoulders slump a bit. She leans up against a metal crate and positions herself comfortably. Howard stops and maintains the shaky distance and truce they have.

Carol says, “Getting in was easy. You have cameras, security, codes on doors, probably infrared and other expensive gadgets. All of that makes you lazy. Trick the system, trick the humans who trust the system.”

She slips a key card out of her pocket and tosses it to him. Howard catches it and examines it, but it is nondescript and would need to be scanned to know who it belonged to.

She goes on. “Vending machine distributor. Used on his off day, when someone else was here. Just swiped the card shortly after the new guy swiped his, and presto chango, no one blinks an eye when two vendors come in instead of just one.”

Sounds feasible. “That wouldn’t get you beyond the commissary, though.”

“That’s what vents are for. Surely you’ve seen Die Hard.”

He laughs. “I produced it.” He’s pretty sure she’s lying, but so is he. Doesn’t really matter.

“Okay, so you shimmy through the vents like some Cherry Bomb mouse, but the real question is why?” He’ll let the security geeks go over all the footage later to figure out how she actually got in.

“Unobtainium is what unimaginative scientists call whatever object would perfectly solve their equation,” Carol says. “It’s vibranium, isn’t it?”

“Of course it’s vibranium.” Worst kept “secret” ever. Making a shield for a very public war hero out of it was probably not the best idea, but it sure did wonders for his business interests. “You have a point with this diversion, I’m taking it?”

“How did this arrogant bravado shtick work for you when you were young and handsome?” she asks, pivoting again.

“It was the ‘40s, Danvers. Everyone had a cigar in their mouth, a hot step, and their ego on their shoulders.” He winks at her. “And I’m still handsome, tell me I ain’t.”

She betrays a tiny smile. “I have a point, don’t I?”

Howard produces a cigarette and a lighter, offers her one as he lights up and she refuses. “The world is an interesting place, Mr. Stark. We have nuclear bombs, genetic testing, super soldiers, UFOs in the skies, metals that don’t obey physics--”

“They don’t follow the physics we know,” he corrects her.

“Huh?”

“Common misconception.” He puffs on the cigarette and continues, “We have a bunch of rules for physics that govern the material world, right?” She nods. “But we made 'em up. They’re incomplete. It’s like my ‘arrogant bravado’. We know what we know and that only really means we know that we don’t know anything.”

She considers that for a moment while he smokes. “So why do all the scientists have such a hardon for ‘facts’ if we don’t know Jack from Jill, cosmically speaking?”

He takes a long drag and eases it out. It’s not a popular theory, but what the hell. “It’s a kind of faith, really. We believe in the evidence presented. Sure, maybe it’s a little more concrete than believing in some kind of God or devil, but I’d argue that the Religion of Science is as dogmatic and fractured as any old religion.”

“Wow.” That’s all he gets out of her for that. He'd be skewered by the scientific community for admitting to even passing belief in what he just said.

“If you ever repeat any of this as something I said, believe me, you’ll go down in flames as a kook faster than this here jet.”

“No one’s gonna believe anything I say, anyway.” She shrugs. “I’m just a dumb punk girl. No one’s listening.” 

He flicks the cigarette away and her eyes judge him for it. He says, “ _I’m_ listening.”

“You’re just humoring me, and God knows why.” She retreats into herself, arms in a half hug around her torso.

“Maybe I am humoring you, but that means you’ve got my attention. You, a dumb punk girl, have the ear of one of the most influential men in the world. And you’re talking down about yourself. I’m gonna ask you one more time, and then I’m gonna be bored with you.”

Her eyes narrow with fury and she sighs, but before answering, she stands up straight, picks up the cigarette still burning on the ground a few feet away, and puts it out on the heel of her boot before looking for a trash can. Not finding one, she puts it in her jacket pocket.

“It’s hard to get the right kind of attention,” she says. “We’re in this supposed post-feminist America, where women can do anything a man can do, and yet that’s hardly the reality.” She gestures to her clothing and her half-committed-to mohawk. “People pay attention when you do something drastic enough.” She glances at the experimental jet next to them.

Howard feels for her even if he doesn't necessarily agree, but he says, “I have a friend you’d probably like to know. Met her in the war, most capable person you’d ever want on your side. A no-nonsense bottle rocket always pointed at the thing she was gonna blow up.” Peggy Carter, the only reason he is a free man, even this far on. “She got me out of treason charges once, you know? _She’d_ tell you something like ‘Never let others do for you what you can do for yourself, and doubly so if he has a mustache.’”

“She sounds interesting,” Carol says, but there's no interest in it. “If I don’t end up in a dark hole, maybe I’ll get to meet her.” She screws up her courage and nods to herself. “Okay, I’m not stalling, promise. Here goes.

“I believe there’s so much more to discover, to learn. If physics can’t explain a shield that does what Captain America’s shield does, then we need new physics. And if we need new physics, that means we need data. We need _information_. And if that means going somewhere we're not supposed to go, I figure that means people are afraid, and that's something I don't really worry about.”

Howard admires the hell out of this young woman, he suddenly realizes. She’s got growing up to do, sure, but she’s got her head on right and a larger than life attitude. She didn't say she didn't have fear, only that she doesn't worry about it. That's either the ignorance of youth or something much greater, and he believes in the latter.

He says, “Going where you shouldn’t, where you can’t… they call that a pioneer. But it’s also defeatist because it has an end goal. Go where your desires need to go. Go where no one will. Go where men fear to tread and gods fear to speak of.” She looks at him now, and he isn’t sure exactly what she’s thinking, but any last vestige of fear he has of her being an assassin or a spy is totally gone. “You’re what, 16? And you successfully made it into an experimental jet in a secure flight dock in a massive security complex with armed soldiers and bomb-sniffing dogs. You can do whatever the hell you set your mind to, Ms. Danvers.”

He approaches her now, and she’s so caught up in his little speech that she doesn’t fight him or take up a defensive stance or anything. Howard reaches toward her jacket, and she flinches, ready to hit him no doubt, but he waits for her to give him the okay, then slides his hand into the side pocket, drawing out the cigarette butt.

“Do what needs to be done, even if the smartest man in the room thinks you’re a fool for doing it.” He walks over to an incinerator chute and tosses it in, looking back over at her. This girl has a future. Some grand adventure, and maybe someday _her_ picture will be on the cover of a magazine.

"What if it makes _me_ a fool?" she asks.

He says, “Every person proves a fool given enough time. So what will Carol Danvers do to make a fool out of me?”

Her eyes sparkle with determination, and she places a hand on the experimental jet’s wing, caressing it with the reverence of a pilot.

“I’m gonna fly.”


	2. Rebel Danvers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having inadvertently impressed Howard Stark, Carol Danvers goes to meet with Peggy Carter, who in the late 1980s is a powerful figure within S.H.I.E.L.D., and holds Carol's fate in her hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After writing the initial meeting between Howard and Carol, I got a little bit of a bug to keep writing about it. Not sure yet where it's all going, but I'm gonna keep exploring!

Agent Peggy Carter eyes the dossier on this distasteful girl. Howard’s come to her office, and the girl is sitting on the other side of the glass, cleaning her fingernails with a pencil, slumped back in the seat pretending not to care about anything.

“You bring nothing but headaches, Howard,” she says, tossing the dossier onto her desk.

“I brought us a project, Peg. This girl is going to surprise you or my name’s Howie.” He goes to light a cigarette and Peggy deadpan stares him down until he puts it all away again. 

“What makes you think we have time to nursemaid the covergirl of rebellion out there? Is the five hours of sleep you get a night too many? Are you not fashionably late enough to virtually every single meeting, event, and family affair?” He sneers, but has to recognize the truth.

She sighs and cracks her back. “I don’t know about you, Howard, but I’ve already raised my kids, and now I’ve got grandkids, and a grand-niece on the way. Isn’t one teenager telling you to piss off enough?” That Howard had had a kid so late in life was already surprise enough, but taking this child under their wings? Madness.

Howard comes around Peggy’s desk, pointing at the Danvers girl. She is now making some rude gestures at the ceiling, no doubt rehearsing her attitude for when Peggy brings her in. “I’ve got a feeling about this one, Peggy. Just give her five minutes. You’ll see what I’m talking about.”

If there is one thing Peggy has learned in all her years of friendship with Howard Stark, it is that the man thinks on a different wavelength than the rest of the world. If he thinks there’s something here, then…

“Just tell me: why us?” Peggy asks. “We should both be retiring and driving around in nice cars, doting on our kids and grandkids. Eating that slice of cake. Drinking that second glass of brandy.”

“I don’t trust anyone else in S.H.I.E.L.D. to handle this. They have a tendency to break down the ambitious, make them fall in line. Too much like the military.”

“Howard, for all intents and purposes, we are a branch of the military.”

“Yeah, and that’s no fun for anyone. Come on, if you talk to her for five minutes and don’t see what I see, you can go get drunk on rum cake and wait for your teeth to fall out like the rest of the geriatrics. I’ll give her the boot.”

Peggy’s eyebrow arches at Howard. “You’re only this foolish when you know you’re right.”

Howard grins. “I must be a fool a lot.”

“Don’t be boorish; send her in.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He pats her shoulder affectionately and knocks on the glass, waving the girl inside when she jumps at the sound.

Peggy clears her throat and Howard regards her while Danvers lazily gets out of the seat and saunters over. “I asked you to send her in. That usually requires one to be outside the office?”

Howard holds up his hands and backs to the door as it swings open. “Yes, mum, right away, mum.” But he grins and leans into Carol to whisper in her ear. Peggy can’t hear it but she imagine it amounts to “Give her hell, but don’t insult her.” 

Howard takes the seat vacated by Miss Danvers while the door closes. Carol stands there, at that awkward age where different parts of her are growing at different rates and nothing quite fits. Jeans slightly too short, shirt a little baggy around the bust, bomber jacket obviously made for a man, excepting that lovely pinup lad on the back. Even now, forty years on, memories of World War II and him spike a pang of regret and loss in Peggy.

She tamps it down and holds out a hand to the girl in greeting.

“Margaret Carter, pleasure,” she says.

Danvers eyes the hand, then looks into Peggy’s eyes. “Mr. Stark said your name was Peggy.” She doesn’t take Peggy’s offered hand and Peggy lets it fall away.

“Yes, well, I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept of a sobriquet, and as we’ve barely begun to know each other, you may call me Margaret, or Agent Carter.”

“How about Large Marge?” Whatever that’s in reference to, Peggy is unamused and  doesn’t let it get under her skin.

She sighs instead. “Howard told me you had something special, but I’m beginning to think he’s going senile.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Carol says, and Peggy hides her smirk. Taking pleasure in a teen’s inability to control her emotions is perhaps a little mean-spirited, but it does feel good sometimes to nettle someone whose sole purpose seems to be just that.

“Have a seat, Miss Danvers. We will conduct a formal interview for an internship that does not exist. I’ve promised my good friend out there that I will give you a chance. This chance lasts approximately four more minutes.”

Peggy goes back behind her desk and takes her seat, while Carol no doubt fights the urge to try and ruffle feathers again. After a few seconds, she takes one of the leather chairs opposite Peggy’s desk. Instead of the casual disinterest she showed outside, she sits up right and proper, but Peggy hears the gentle scraping of her boot against the quite expensive desk.

Peggy starts, “So I really only have one question for you, Miss Danvers.” She leans forward, and Carol instinctively sinks back into the chair. “What gave you the impression I was flappable?”

“Flappable?” Carol asks. The confusion on her face is priceless.

“Capable of being flapped.”

“Like unflappable?”

“Quite the opposite, dear.”

“Is this how all Brits talk? In circles until they’re full of themselves?” Carol’s arms cross and she huffs out an annoyed breath.

Peggy says, “Confidence is often confused for bluster.” That silenced Miss Danvers. Outside the office, Howard is now staring in and giving Peggy a thumbs up gesture and patting himself on the back. At this rate he’s the only one who’ll be doing any patting.

A chance… “Let me change the question, Miss Danvers.” She stands up and gets a bottle of water from the mini fridge in the corner, offering it to Carol, who declines. She opens and takes a sip, then carefully walks around the room, behind Carol’s chair, where she upends the bottle all over the girl’s very nice spiked hair.

Carol leaps from the chair, cursing, splashing water back on Peggy. The ice cold drops spatter against her nice suit jacket and her face, but she does her best not to react.

“You’re out of your damn mind, lady! I knew this was a mistake.” Carol goes for the door, eyes afire with anger and possibly filling with tears. 

“Do you know how many lives are between you and me, Miss Danvers?”

She stops at the door, Howard on the other side caught between humor and concern at Peggy’s rude gesture.

“You gonna impress me with your secret agent kills?” she asks, her back to Peggy, hand on the doorknob.

“I’m not trying to impress you, Carol. Rather, I’d like to impress upon you something of a universal truth around here.” Peggy sets the water bottle on the table and gathers some cloth napkins from the wet bar Howard insisted all upper tier agents receive.

“Just a few. Truthfully I’ve had rare occasion to take a life, but I’ve lost dozens, a hundred, of soldiers, friends... others. You don’t survive any industry as a woman without losing a few things along the way.”

Carol turns back from the door and says, “Is this supposed to make me feel sorry for you? Wahhh, I’m Margaret, I’m a hundred and three and everyone around me is dead. Get real, lady. We’ve all lost people.”

Peggy offers the sodden girl the cloth napkins. “I don’t want your pity, nor your pith, Miss Danvers. I want your truth. Somewhere under this facade you’ve crafted is an angry and scared girl, angry at the world for not being better, scared because making it better is hard.”

Carol’s outstretched hand freezes, and Peggy takes the opportunity to grasp it firmly, cloth napkins between their palms. “If I’ve got your measure, perhaps you’d like to continue this interview.”

Carol sneers, but nods, taking the napkins and wiping her face. Her spiked hair has fallen a bit, but whatever glue she’s stuck in it is strong, and it retains a bit of its mohawk shape. Her eyeliner has run a bit, but that’s okay. 

“Who do I send the cleaning bill to?” she asks, indicating her leather jacket while sitting down again in the other, not wet, chair.

“I think we both know that thing can take a soaking, Miss Danvers. We made things to last in the Second War. Some of them managed to live up to that.”

Carol scoffs, but doesn’t immediately bite back. “I’m sorry I was rude to you. It’s the only way I know how to have tits and not be judged by them.”

There’s some truth, at last. “Would you like a brief introduction to Agent Carter? I see you’ve signed an NDA, which you’re not allowed to do as a minor, and you’ve been granted provisional clearance, which we’re also not allowed to do. But it should be okay to give you some details.”

Peggy sighs and leans back into her chair. She doesn’t often think about the early years, but this girl needs some encouragement, even if the internship doesn’t go anywhere. Carol nods sheepishly, still wiping at the damp spots on her shirt.

“Support and intel against Red Skull and Hydra. Confidante of Captain America. Friend to Howard Stark. Lover of fancy red hats. Secret agent before S.H.I.E.L.D., co-founder of same. I’ve helped stop war, biological plagues, a thing called the Darkforce of which you certainly can’t know the specifics. I did most of this in the 1940s, after the war, when women were being pushed back out of the jobs they took up when men came home from the front lines. I never let a man’s perception of a woman stand in the way of what I wanted--or had--to do. Weakness asks permission to be great, Miss Danvers.”

Peggy is perhaps laying it on thick, but some of her point is making it through, based on the wide eyes that Carol’s nonplussed expression is failing to hide. 

Carol says, “I always thought Captain America was just a propaganda thing.”

Peggy sighs. “He was certainly that, but the man behind it all was everything you wanted a hero to be, and more. He wasn’t normal, you understand?”

“If his shield is any indication, how could he be?” Carol asks, with a hint of stars in her eyes. Still there’s skepticism, though.

Peggy opens her desk drawer and withdraws a framed photo. It is a rare black and white photo of the masked Steve Rogers, Howard Stark, Peggy, Bucky Barnes, and the rest of the Howling Commandos. Almost all dead now.

“A little proof in the pudding,” she says, fingers trembling slightly as she hands the photo over. It’s hard to look at memories, she’s coming to find.

Carol looks it over, comparing first Peggy to the girl in the photo, and then to Howard standing at the door observing with the young, mustachioed man with a smile that melted hearts.

“Whoa,” is all Carol says at first, after coming to the conclusion that Peggy is not just blowing smoke. “My grandparents served. He was stationed away from most of the combat, and she was a nurse. They actually met each other at a USO show where Captain America was appearing, but they never saw him in battle.”

Peggy’s smile is sad. “He hated those shows, but endured them for the sake of being a symbol, when he wasn’t actively rooting out Hydra and Axis soldiers.” She shakes herself out of reverie. “But you’re not here to talk about Captain America. You’re here because Howard sees something in you.”

“Chutzpah,” Carol says, deflecting. Without the makeup she looks a little more like just a girl playing dressup.

“Perhaps. He admires people who go their own way. Who stand up tall and declare by their very presence that things will be different. He appreciates those who do. It is by his interest that I didn’t kick you out of the door the second you walked in and refused to shake my hand.”

“I apologized for that already,” Carol says, sinking into the chair a little, face reddening at the cheeks. 

“I suppose you did. So I would like to return to the original question I posed to you. 'What gave you the impression I was flappable?'”

“Mature women often have no backbone,” Carol says, “but the chills down mine tell me you’re different.”

“And is it not telling that Howard brought you to me, rather than simply telling me what he had in mind for you?”

Carol falters, silent.

Peggy goes on, “I know why he took a shine to you. Has he mentioned his son yet?”

“Anthony.”

Peggy nods. “He’s a bit of a rebel. The protocol that kept you from being tossed into a black site was created because Anthony kept sneaking into labs and hangars.”

“So I remind Mr. Stark of his son.”

“And probably me a bit. When I first met Howard, back before Captain America, he was a playboy and an inventor, a pilot and a good man. Perhaps even in that order.” Carol chuckles. “There have been so few women of note in his life that it is no surprise he finds something valuable in you.”

Carol blinks, brows furrowed. “Was that a compliment?”

“Not from me. So far I’ve only seen a mule who loses her temper. But that passion is good. Passion keeps you going when the world tells you to throw in the towel. Tell me, Miss Danvers, what are you passionate about?”

“Pushing boundaries,” she answers. “I want to fly jets. I want to test secret aircraft. I want to be the one people call when there’s an impossible mission.”

“You want to be a hero.” Peggy sighs, putting the photo away. This is going nowhere.

Carol shakes her head, though. “I want to do heroic things. I don’t need the fame and shit that comes with it.”

That’s interesting. “It’s not an easy life, you know. Being powerful in the dark.”

“You seem to do okay,” Carol says.

“Yes, well, it is often a lonely affair. Not all of us have the glowing personality and very public accolades of Howard Stark.”

Carol considers this, mouth twisted in thought. “I just want to fly and make impossible things a little more possible, Agent Carter. I don’t think it’s a matter of you wanting me, but rather, of me needing you.” Her breath catches as she says it. “I’m not trying to offend you, or get a rise. I’m going to do the things I said, and if you can help me with that, great. I want to see that experimental jet again. If not, I’ll muddle my way through it on my own.”

And there it is. Peggy smiles. “Congratulations, Carol Danvers. You’re not just another cog in another superfluous machine.”

Carol’s eyes widen. “You mean--”

“We’ll have to get proper permission from your parents, and a good cover story as to what exactly you’ll be interning. This facility is a poorly kept secret, but we can figure something out.”

Peggy gives Howard a brief smile and nod, and Howard gives her a thumbs up again, smiling ear to ear. He’s insufferable when he’s right.

Carol offers her hand to Peggy now, and Peggy shakes it, strong and firm. 

“Welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D., Intern Danvers.”


	3. Danvers Meets the Other Stark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol Danvers, having impressed Howard Stark and Peggy Carter, can hardly believe her life has taken this weird turn. Intern at S.H.I.E.L.D. will be a new experience, and she's excited and terrified about it in equal measure.
> 
> She deals with her parents the next morning and meets Howard Stark's son, Tony, who appears at breakfast just to meet her.

Carol closes the door to her room. She takes comfort in the familiar space. Her space. Rosie the Riveter poster, but she’s got blue hair and black lipstick. Ramones, Dead Kennedys, Misfits. She has a poster for a new band, Nine Inch Nails, that she got for free from their first album, _Pretty Hate Machine_ , but she hasn’t really listened to it yet.

It’s past midnight and she just spent the last fourteen hours reading contracts, non-disclosure agreements, fake clearance papers, watching videos on what is and is not a breach of NDA. Sitting with Howard Stark in his office, her parents non-plussed but vaguely excited that she’s been accepted into some new internship that they hadn’t even heard of, even moreso that it won’t cost them anything. They don’t even know who Howard Stark is, not really. Showing them the magazine with him on the cover was at least enough to get them to understand he is respected in science and technology.

She is tired. Exhausted. Her heart is beating so hard. Is any of this real? She reaches into her leather jacket and withdraws her credentials. Carol Danvers, Intern at Stark Aviation--which doesn’t technically exist--but Howard said that would be taken care of by lunch tomorrow. Her photo ID is not great: her fauxhawk is a little lopsided because of that bitch’s water trick, but it’s her.

She looks around her room, convincing herself it’s not some dream. Her eyes ache from stress. Her lids are heavy. She hasn’t been this exhausted since that whirlwind vacation cross-country when she was eight. In a car for so many hours, fighting with her brother, forced to sing along with whatever car game her parents were playing. Trekking down canyons and caverns, taking pictures five times at each location just in case one was bad, eating greasy fried food on the road for breakfast lunch and dinner. She would have trouble sleeping in a moving vehicle and get cranky towards the end of the night, and when they finally stopped at a hotel, she would throw herself onto the bed she shared with her brother and pass out. Dreamless sleep.

She doesn’t think the same will happen today. She strips off her leather jacket and goes into the bathroom that connects her and Steve’s room. She sees his light is off through the crack under his door, and turns the shower on. She knows better than to fall asleep with her spikes intact.

The water is warm, and she cranks the heat up until it’s almost hot enough to scald, and lets it run down her head. What does it even mean to be this intern? She was so flabbergasted by it earlier that she accepted it because it was secret, because she could work with Howard Stark. It felt special.

She felt special.

Now she feels like maybe this is definitely a dream. She’ll wake up any moment and still be the angry punk, with no power but what she pretends she has.

But she doesn’t wake up from a nightmare. Instead she turns off the shower and dries off and slips into her pajamas. She gets into bed and blessedly falls asleep.

She dreams of making her parents proud. Of giving her little brother something to look up to, of her father finally seeing she’s more than equal to men. Of making her mother proud.

She dreams of experimental jets, and getting revenge on Agent Carter. She dreams that Howard Stark is her father.

She dreams and dreams until her alarm goes off the next morning. She throws herself out of bed and grabs at her credentials. To make sure it’s real. Ready for it to be a dream.

And her fingers tremble as they hold the papers.

Carol Danvers, Intern at Stark Aviation.

Her brother stomps out of his room and plops down on Carol’s bed. Yawning, in just a t-shirt and shorts. His hair is mussed from sleep and he’s rubbing it from his eyes.

“I waited up for you, Care, but I guess all that stuff with Mom & Dad took a while.”

She stuffs the credentials back into her leather jacket, willing her nerves to settle. “Morning, butthead.”

“So you’re gonna go work for some stuffed shirt but not get paid?”

“I’m barely old enough to wait tables, Steve. This is so much more than that.”

“Oh yeah? Getting coffee for some science nerd?”

“That science nerd is worth billions, little brother.”

Steve’s jaw drops. “No way.”

“Well, hundreds of millions at least.” There’s some skepticism about Stark’s true wealth, and now Carol really understands why. Tied up in S.H.I.E.L.D. and experimental technology.

“What’s he want with some dumb girl?”

She scoffs and throws a pencil at him, which he dodges, laughing. “What did I tell you about that.”

“Everything I needed to know to piss you off?”

That gets a tiny grin from Carol. “Look, I applied at school a few weeks ago. There was a flyer,” she lies. She sits down next to Steve. They have a rule about lying to each other, but this is bigger than all of that. She knows what she has to say. So why is it so hard?

“I went in for some basic comprehension testing Saturday, and then met with Stark and some others yesterday morning.”

“Dressed like you normally are? And they didn’t escort you from the building?”

“I guess it got their attention.” She shrugs. “Look, you probably don’t wanna hear it, but your big sis has a head on her shoulders. She’s gonna go places.”

“And see things,” Steve imitates her. “Fly to the sun and make it apologize for that sunburn you got this summer.”

She elbows him playfully. “I’m gonna fly, Steve. We already know I’m not going to college. Dad can’t afford both of us, and he’s sending you. This is maybe a different path.”

This is a point of contention between the whole family. Carol’s older, smarter than Steve, thirsty for knowledge and adventure. Steve wants to play Nintendo and baseball.

Steve says, “Yeah, well, maybe I’ll drop out and get my GED. Then Dad can throw all his money away on you.”

“I bet he wouldn’t even then,” Carol says. “And it wouldn’t be throwing it away, you skunk.”

“So do you still have to go to school and stuff?”

“School is like taxes and death. No escape.”

Steve sighs. “Bummer. I’d probably want to do it if I could get out of class.”

“You’d jump off a bridge to get out of school.”

“A really high one.”

“Water’s cold this time of year.”

“I can handle it.”

Carol scruffs his hair and he tries to do the same, and then they’re wrestling for a few seconds on her bed until she pins him down.

“Say Uncle!”

He does and she lets him up. He rubs his shoulder as he stands up. “Eventually I’m gonna be too big for you.”

“Size makes up for lack of skill, little brother. When you finally outgrow me, I’ll still plant your face in the dirt every time.” And she will.

“Whatever. Do we have waffles?” he muses as he leaves her room.

She stares back at her credentials one last time. Not a dream.

She’ll fly one day.

 

*****

 

“You’re sure you can handle this internship?” Carol’s mother asks. She’s just heaped the last waffle, toaster style, onto the big plate in the center of the table, and everyone greedily grabs at the stack, filling their plates as her mother sits down. She’s a housewife in an era when housewife also means part-time job at minimum, but Carol’s father refuses to let her work. Carol thinks it’s cute that he “allows” her to do anything.

“What kind of question is that?” her father asks, and Carol looks at him, eyes wide in shock. Joseph Danvers being supportive? “Our daughter can do anything she sets her mind to.”

Carol is speechless. She realizes there’s a very small noise coming from her throat, probably too quiet for anyone to hear.

As she’s mustering up the words to thank her father, for what feels like the first time, he says, “Why she’d want to go after some nerd shit is beyond me, but let the girl get it out of her system, yeah?”

And the thanks dies on her lips. She takes big bites of waffle to avoid yelling.

“I just don’t want her to feel overwhelmed or get too deep into this that her grades suffer.” Her mother, Marie, is ever an enigma to Carol. She feels a closeness that she supposes most children feel for their mother, but Marie is oddly distant at times.

Carol knows better than to argue with her parents, so she sits quietly while Steve noisily devours the three waffles and eggs and bacon on his plate.

“So she’ll graduate with a 3.9 GPA instead of a 4.0. Doesn’t matter,” Dad says.

Mom answers, “It matters to her.”

“It won’t in a couple years when she grows out of this spiky hair phase and meets a nice boy. She can philosophize with her friends at brunch with a 3.9 just as easily as a 4.0.”

“I’m gonna be late,” Carol says, standing up from the table. This is a complete fabrication, but she can’t sit here and listen to her parents talk about her future as if she has no say in it. As if she isn’t even a person.

“Now hold on,” Dad starts, but there’s a knock at the door interrupting the conversation.

Carol says, “I got it,” and hurries from the room before anyone else can protest.

She whispers thanks to whoever knocked for the distraction.

And a much younger Howard Stark is standing on the other side. The son. He’s handsome, just like the pictures of Howard when he was in the war. Maybe eighteen or nineteen.

“Hi, I’m Anthony Stark,” he says, holding a hand out to her. She reaches out on instinct, and is surprised when he gives her a good firm handshake instead of taking it like it’s a dainty leaf. “My friends call me Tony.”

“Carol,” she says. “But you know that already, huh?” He’s wearing a red and gold polo and a watch that probably costs as much as the car Carol wants.

“The lady hawk gave it away,” he says, indicating her hair.

“Who’s at the door?” Mom asks, appearing from the kitchen. She smiles brightly when she sees a handsome young man dressed well and grinning.

“You must be Mrs. Danvers, pleasure,” he says, and he takes her hand like the delicate flower all women get. All women but Carol, apparently.

“This is Mr. Stark’s son, Anthony,” Carol says. “He’s here because--” She has no idea.

Tony says, “Dad asked me to swing by and pick her up before school. There’s a few more things to go over before her internship is official. She won’t be late, but it’s time-sensitive stuff. Approvals, corporate nonsense, everything moves at a snail’s pace, you know?”

“Weren’t you in Paris?” Carol asks. Howard mentioned it, she’s sure.

“Paris? How exotic,” Mom says, preening. “Well, Carol, grab your stuff, you don’t want to keep Mr. Stark waiting.” It’s not immediately clear which Mr. Stark she refers to, but Carol grabs her bag and her jacket and walks out the door, giving her mother a quick wave behind the back as she goes.

Any excuse to get away from all the rumor-mongering that’s about to happen at the table.

Tony drives a bright red Mustang, and Carol feels a momentary disappointment that it isn’t something fancier, like a Porsche or a Lambo. The family can certainly afford it.

“You didn’t answer me,” Carol says as they both get in and put their seatbelts on.

“Paris is way less interesting than my father’s pet project. I caught the first flight home.” She blushes at that, but then the engine revs and it vibrates pleasantly all the way down Carol’s body. This thing has some power, even if it’s not a really fancy ride. He takes off, aggressive but not erratic. He controls the car, knows it well.

Carol says, “I prefer to think of it as fostering potential.”

Tony laughs. “You drank the old man’s juice just as much as he did.”

They leave the neighborhood and head towards the highway. “This isn’t the way, is it?” Carol asks.

Tony shrugs. “I might have fibbed a bit to your mom. Howard doesn’t need anything else from you.”

“Then what--”

“Like I said, whatever he’s doing with you is more interesting than another museum, another midnight rave. He’s never shown half as much interest in me as he did for a girl who broke into a secure facility.”

“I heard they named the protocol for minors infiltrating the base after you.”

That gets a chuckle from him. “Probably. You’d be surprised, or maybe you wouldn’t, at how easy it is to bluff your way through a military facility.”

She nods. “It’s probably not a great thing for our country.”

“Maybe not.” They reach the highway and he opens up the Mustang, weaving in and out of early morning traffic with finesse. She never once felt jerked around or like he was going to hit someone.

“You are going to take me to school, right?”

“We’ll get there the long way.”

She feels suddenly uncomfortable, and reaches into her bag for a nail file or a pencil.

He seems to notice that despite his attention on the road. “You’re not in any danger, Carol. Honest. I just wanted to get your measure, see what had my dad so worked up.”

She leaves her hand on the pencil she’s found.

“Worked up, huh?”

“You know how you used to get on Christmas Eve, anxious and hopeful and giddy all at the same time? That’s my dad right now because of you.”

At least someone seems to care. She asks, “And have you got my measure? Do I warrant all this fuss?”

He shrugs. “I’m surprised you got his attention at all with the hawk and the jacket with that beefcake on it. Most people crying out for attention the way you do have nothing to say. So what did you say to my father?”

She sighs. “It’s all a blur at this point. I think we talked about fools.”

“Did he drag out that old line about ‘how are you going to fool me?’ he loves so much?”

Her breath hitches in her throat. Is that all it was? Just a line Mr. Stark uses on people to get what he wants?

Tony shrugs as they exit the highway. “Guess so. Listen, Carol, you’re not the first person to get rooked by dear old Howard, and you probably won’t be the last. That doesn’t mean you need to quit or whatever you’re thinking about doing.”

She is thinking just that. “I don’t make a habit of letting people make fools out of me.”

“Then you’re probably gonna have to get a new hobby, because Howard isn’t stupid. He’s an ass, and he doesn’t get--well, he isn’t a great father figure. But he’s smart and he knows people. Just because he’s manipulating you doesn’t mean it’s malicious, or that you’re not going to benefit from it.”

“The whiplash from your praise and criticism is almost as bad as the whiplash from your driving,” Carol says, trying to gain control of the conversation.

He chuckles. He knows he can drive. “You’re what? 15?”

“16 in a couple months.”

“So 15. You’re something else, Carol Danvers.” He flashes her a grin that she thinks is designed to melt impressionable young hearts, but she’s not having any of it.

“What a line. Are you anything more than the son of a millionaire?”

He doesn’t flinch, though. He’s unflappable, to borrow a word from Agent Carter. “At this point?” he asks. “Probably not. But I’m starting college in the spring, so maybe it’ll shape me up.”

“Most people start college in the fall.”

He shrugs. “Rich people don’t follow the same timeline, Danvers.”

There’s something refreshing about his blunt honesty even as it annoys her. “So what does the son of tech giant Howard Stark plan to do with his life?”

He laughs out loud this time. “Ask me again in a couple of years. Right now I’m satisfied getting one over on my old man and doing roughly whatever seems fun at the time.”

“Sounds nice. I’m over here trying to keep a secret government agency from killing me out of convenience and you’re just bumbling through life with a credit card and a big smile.” He spares her another of those smiles.

“We can skip school if you want. I’m sure there’s an excuse note for ‘Secret Agent Training’.”

She scoffs at his poor joke. “I need the school, Tony. It’s my way out of this shitheap of a city.”

“Nothing wrong with it. Stark Aviation has its HQ here, after all.”

And then they both laugh at the absurdity of forming a shell company just to cover story a girl’s secret internship. They pull up next to Carol’s high school, and she unbuckles and opens the door.

It was such a weird ride, and Tony’s a privileged jerk, but she feels a little kinship with him. Agent Carter was right about them, it seems. Something in common that Howard Stark feels connected to.

“Thanks, Tony. I’m not certain what happened this morning, but it wasn’t the worst.”

He flashes her another smile. Pretty boys must not be her thing. “I’ll take ‘not the worst’ for now. See you around, Carol.”

She doesn’t like the way he says her name, but she kinda likes him. Not in that way, but having someone around who can help dissect Mr. Stark’s thoughts… useful.

Carol becomes aware that she’s being stared at as Tony’s Mustang pulls away from the curb. All eyes are on the shitty punk girl who just got out of a fancy car with a fancier boy. Some cat-calls and jeers greet her as she ascends the steps to the school.

Let them assume.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some ideas are solidifying here as I map out what this mostly-MCU-compliant story is going to become. It will quickly divert into AU territory with the next few chapters, where Carol's home life, school life, and intern life at SHIELD will all play into the story being told. I guess that's slice-of-life with occasional plot? 
> 
> If you have suggestions for the school population, or the SHIELD facility population, I'm all ears.


	4. Friends of Carol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol interacts with her school rival, Hank; her best friend, Jessica; and her aviation club friend, Maria.

Carol closes the stall door in the girls’ bathroom. She’s got a hall pass from second period, and she really just wants to go home right now. Rather than let the jerks at this school see her vulnerable or that they affected her, she excused herself to suffer where no one can see her.

The walls of the stall in this gritty bathroom have their fair share of graffiti, written in nail polish, lipstick, marker… anything silently-mean girls have at their disposal. _Susie H. spreads her legs for Bill T. For a good time call. We bleed, we birth, we bleed again._

Carol wrote some of these, but none about other people. She writes a new one now in permanent marker, right at eye level for any girl coming in here to do her business. _Carol D. eats the B._

Crude, but maybe this will distract them all. She smiles a bit, knowing Jessica will have something to add to it. She always does.

She leaves the stall and looks in the mirror. In the quiet of the bathroom when everyone is in class, she gathers herself. Carol Danvers is a badass. She will kick your ass. She’s in a cult. Carol’s a lesbian. Carol’s a neo-Nazi. Carol’s a secret government agent.

She smiles at herself and goes back to class.

*****

Later, Carol plunks down her tray in the cafeteria, not really hungry but a cheeseburger and fries is just what she needs right now. Grease and starch.

Her friend, Jessica, is reading some Stephen King novel. Her thick glasses magnify her pretty green eyes, and her dyed black hair is artfully disheveled in a way that makes Carol jealous. Where Carol’s appearance is thoughtfully crafted to provoke based entirely on female expectation, Jessica seems to float through life without a second thought to her appearance and still be beautiful. Or maybe Carol’s just projecting.

“Is it clowns, aliens, or demons?” Carol asks.

“Little of A, little of B, little of X Y and Z.” Jessica favors Carol with a brief smile before her eyes go back to the book. “Short story collection.”

Carol picks at her food. She hates eating in public, but there’s no real alternative, and it’s the only time of the day that she and Jessica get to hang out besides the few minutes in home room and between classes, so she deals.

“Some interesting new rumors about you this morning,” Jessica says, putting the book down after finishing the page. She steals a fry from Carol’s tray. Her reflexes are scarily fast sometimes.

Carol shrugs. “People talk.”

“It’s pretty wild. You gonna tell me about this supposed older boy with the fancy car?”

Carol blushes despite not feeling attraction for Tony. “It’s nothing. A, uh, friend of the family.”

Jessica catches the red face. “I know bull when I smell it, Danvers.”

Carol squirms and takes a bite of her burger, chewing longer than necessary. When she goes to take another big bite, Jessica playfully slaps her hand and Carol drops the burger onto the tray.

“He’s Howard Stark’s son,” Carol whispers, and Jessica Drew’s eyes are blank for a moment. Then she understands.

“That old rich genius guy you’re always on about?”

“Old, rich, genius, World War II vet and pilot. Yeah, that one.”

Carol swears she can see the ears twitch on a kid a couple tables away as he looks over at their conversation. Hank McCoy, resident chess champion and pain in her ass.

Jessica asks, “So what, you’re trying to date up now? Get in with the son since the old man is gross.”

Carol flicks a fry at Jessica, but the confounded girl catches it nimbly and eats it.

“It’s not like that. There was a--” And here it is. Does she lie to her best friend, her only real friend, about something so monumental? It’s not just a secret kept, this time. It’s a matter of criminal intent if she divulges information about S.H.I.E.L.D. But it’s Jessica. She’s the rock Carol’s entire world rests on, or so it seems some days.

But it’s not fair to ask her to keep that secret. To put Jessica’s life in danger just to free that burden from keeping it herself.

“It’s an internship. I saw an opportunity in--” She glances briefly at Hank, who is definitely somehow paying attention to their conversation, and says, “In a magazine. I applied to intern with Howard Stark, and this weekend was the last interview. I’m in, and Tony was just offering me a ride after some final paperwork had to be signed this morning.”

Keep the lie going. Jessica’s face is inscrutable, and Carol knows she isn’t believed, but Jessica shrugs and steals another french fry. “What kind of wild internship would take Rebel Danvers with that hunk of burning love on your jacket?”

“One at Stark Aviation. He’s going to put me on an Air Force track and give me lots of guidance.”

“Dirty old man gives a girl a handout, usually wants her hands on something else.”

Carol makes a face and lowers her voice. “Gag me with that talk. And he’s not a dirty old man. He’s… interesting. And his son is the total playboy.”

“Introduce me to him next time.”

“I don’t think he could handle you,” Carol says, smirking.

“It’s the confident ones I like to break.”

Their lunch goes on and they joke and eat, and Hank McCoy a couple tables down stands up close to the end of lunch. That boy is proportioned all wrong, but there’s a certain grace to the way he walks, like a jungle cat stalking, that makes Carol shiver. His glasses are even bigger than Jessica’s, but don’t magnify his blue eyes the same way. His hair is brown and wavy, in danger of becoming a mullet the way he wears it tucked behind his ears.

He’s coming right for her, and she doesn’t know what to do. What if he asks questions she can’t answer? Stonewall him. Shove that big geek into a big old locker if you have to.

“Hello Carol, Jessica,” he says as he stops at the end of the table. Jessica glances at him, surprised.

“Not a ‘greetings earthlings’ today?”

Hank blushes slightly, but shrugs it off. “I hardly think a casual greeting calls for rudeness, Jessica.”

“Forsooth and perish the ministrations of thought once uttered,” Carol says, and both girls laugh.

Hank chuckles good-naturedly, but is undeterred. As he always is undeterred. “I saw you this morning with Tony Stark, I believe.”

Carol masks her surprise. “What’s it to you, man?”

“I just found it curious, a graduate of one of the more prestigious private schools in the state, a manboy who spends more time looking down blouses than in science journals, despite his formidable intellect. You don’t seem his type.”

Suddenly Carol wants to be his type, to shove it in this jerk’s face. “Maybe you’re  a bad judge of character.”

He nods. “Perhaps. I mostly wonder how you came to be acquainted with him, as I’d very much like to have a conversation with him, or definitely his esteemed father.” He pulls out of his bag a copy of the same magazine with Howard Stark’s face on it.

“Yes, I know who Howard Stark is,” Carol says, sneering.

“She knows him!” Jessica says happily, thinking she’s helping shut this goober down.

Carol glares at her and Jessica stares back, confused.

“You’ve met him?” Hank asks.

Carol mumbles, “Something like that.”

Hank sits down without being invited. “Is he as brilliant as they say? Is he as quick-witted as his interviews? Did you get to shake his hand?”

Hank shows no signs of waiting for answers to any of these questions, so Carol interrupts him. “Look, gangly limbs, there was an internship at his new company, and I guess he didn’t hate me. I barely know the guy.”

Hank seems to consider this. “An internship like that would be vied for nationally. Internationally. What magazine did you say it came from? I can’t believe I’d have missed it.”

“I didn’t say.”

“You don’t have to be rude about it, Carol. I’m simply trying to understand how I missed it.”

Carol is getting worked up, but she can’t really help herself. “What about me for the last year or so says that anything about your life matters? Rude is my natural state of being. And if you want to talk about rude, you sat down uninvited at our table, asked questions I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t even have known to ask, and eavesdropped on us somehow from several tables away.”

Jessica and Hank share glances, and Hank has the decency to look abashed. “You’re right, Carol. I admit I was thoughtless. It so rarely happens that gossip in this school is of interest to me, I suppose I was swept away by it.”

“So let me say this, so it’s clear as crystal,” Carol begins, “My business relationship with the Stark family is under an NDA. I can’t talk about anything but generalities.”

“NDA?” Jessica asks.

“Non-disclosure agreement,” Hank provides helpfully.

Carol sighs. “It’s like being contractually obligated to keep a secret, so far as I can tell.”

Hank’s blue eyes sparkle with what those secrets could be. Incorrigible. Polite, but incorrigible.

“Have I satisfied your curiosity yet? Can you go? I’m missing quality time with my main lady here.”

“Ooh, that’s me!” Jessica declares. “Though there aren’t really any side ladies, are there?”

Not really, Carol admits to herself. Maybe Maria? Hank excuses himself and gets ribbed by his geeky friends for talking to the scary chicks. Nerds love freaks, what can you do?

“Did I do wrong?” Jessica asks after he’s gone. They’re almost whispering now, but Carol is almost a hundred percent sure that Hank can damn well hear them anyway.

“Maybe just a little. It’s not a big deal, but the NDAs and the clearances required are secretive. It’s a lot, and the more people who know I have access to Stark, the more vulnerable he is.” Or so it was explained to her ad nauseum the day before.

It doesn’t occur to Carol that it makes her more vulnerable, too.

Jessica adopts a cutesy expression of sorrow with big pouty lips. “Sorry, babe. Won’t happen again. Probably.”

“When I can tell you about the internship, I will,” Carol says.

“I know you will. We ride or die.”

Ride or die. There are far, far worse people to be so loyal to.

“Lunch is almost over,” Carol says, dusting the rest of her fries onto Jessica’s tray as she stands. Jessica squeals with delight and munches the fries.

“You have time this afternoon to hang?” she asks with a mouth full of fries.

Carol’s head shakes. “I wish. I’ve got Flight and then more internship stuff. Not sure how I’m gonna keep up with my schoolwork.”

“Sleep less, drink coffee, become a superhero. You know, the usual.”

Carol grins. “I already have a superhero. Her name is Jessica.”

That causes Jessica to redden at the cheeks and Carol walks away, grinning like a fool before she remembers she’s supposed to be the tough chick, and adopts her trademark punk scowl.

*****

The classroom is quiet, like a breath held too long. Flight Club isn’t really a “club” in the traditional sense. It doesn’t have school backing, or events, or field trips. It’s just a few students who love anything that lets people fly, and they gather together whenever they can to lust over airplanes, spaceships, hang gliders, jetpacks, magic, and more.

Carol is afraid she’s grown out of it now that she’s a secret S.H.I.E.L.D. intern.

Maria Rambeau is the only one there so far, and she is reading a pamphlet about NASA’s space missions and their newest shuttles. One year Carol’s senior, dark-skinned with short, black hair and brown eyes approaching hazel, Maria is the one who started the club when she caught sight of Carol’s ridiculous bomber jacket with the hunky man on it.

There are a few others in the club, but none have the enthusiasm of Maria and Carol.

“What’s up, flygirl?” Carol asks as she drops herself and her bag in an empty chair and kicks her feet up on an adjacent desk.

“Us, someday.”

“Someday us,” Carol confirms. “Is that the NASA thing we wrote to them about? It actually came?”

Maria affirms with a mumble, never taking her eyes from the pamphlet. These things tended to disappear in Flight Club, due to zealous collectors of flight memorabilia. Maria is making sure she reads and remembers the whole thing before that happens, Carol is sure. She should do the same.

Carol sits patiently, then impatiently, her boot waggling back and forth on top of her other boot. After another minute or a lifetime, Maria drops the pamphlet to the desk she’s sitting at.

“You’re antsy and it’s distracting.”

“I have… I have something to tell you.” She is suddenly nervous talking about it in front of the only girl who understands her love of flight.

“You’re not quitting Flight Club, are you?”

Carol shakes her head no. “No, it’s nothing bad, but I don’t know how much I can tell you.”

“Give it up, flygirl. Did you get into space camp or what?” Maria frowns. “If you got into space camp, I’m assuming your identity.”

“So Howard Stark invited me to intern at his new company, Stark Aviation.”

Maria’s jaw drops, then she grins. “Yeah, cool joke, Danvers. Only the patron saint of modern aviation offered you an internship. How’d he find out about you? Did you write him a letter?”

Carol stiffens, too upset at being laughed at to be angry just yet. “It’s not a joke, Rambeau. I signed up to be tested through--” And she realizes her lie about the flyer, or the magazine, or whatever she can’t even remember now, is going to be so much chaff in the wind to this girl, who knows all the publications, all the journals, everything that could have pointed her to this amazing opportunity.

She recenters. “No, that’s the cover story.” Careful, Danvers.

“Cover story? Are you kidding me with this shit?” Maria asks. Her arms fold in front of her and her expression could freeze lava. “What is up, flygirl? ‘Cause this isn’t gonna fly.”

Carol drops her legs to their proper position and sits up, wondering what she could say to make things okay with Maria. There’s gotta be something.

How much of the truth can she tell? Maybe a version of the truth.

“Okay, listen. I heard some guys talking at the mall about Stark’s new company, keeping it hush hush. Mostly just research and development and board meetings and the like. But Howard Stark was meeting them in person at the new office--” Was there a fake address? She chose to be vague. “It’s downtown, and we were already pretty close to that, so I went down that way--”

“Hold up, you were at the mall, by yourself? No mom, no best friend trying so damn hard to pretend like she’s effortless and aloof to her pretty?”

“My mom dropped me off.” Carol knows she can’t keep this lie up. She’s not good at it to start with. “Ugh, to hell with this.” She stands up and faces away from Maria, looking out the windows at the sunshine and the kids at the playground across the street.

“You’re gonna have to help me here, Carol,” Maria says cautiously. “I’ve heard three or so stories now and I don’t think any of them are true.”

“It’s because none of them are,” Carol says, measuring her words. She doesn’t really know Maria that well. “Well, one of them is true. I met Howard Stark and I am going to be his intern.” She turns back to Maria, to stare her in the eyes.

Maria searches Carol’s eyes and Carol does her best to act the part of the punk, the rebel, the ace pilot who doesn’t back down. She feels like a kitten about to be dragged back home by momma cat for wandering.

Finally, Maria’s gaze softens. “Well, hell, I guess you are, huh. You lucky ass flygirl, how’d you manage that?”

And Carol tells her everything. Well, as much as she feels it is safe to tell. Sneaking into an experimental jet, Stark catching her, being impressed with her knowledge, and convincing the partner “of the company” to give her a chance.

When Carol winds down, Maria sits shell-shocked. Somehow, none of the other Flight Club members decided to show up, and for that Carol is thankful.

“So I haven’t told you everything,” Carol continues, “because I can’t. I haven’t even told Jessica.”

“It’s a lot, Danvers. And I know I said I believed you, but damn. Let me ask you this.”

“Shoot.”

“Can I meet him?”

For a moment Carol stares at her, dumbfounded.

Then they’re both laughing, and Carol knows it’s going to be all right. At least this part will be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is where the AU takes over. Carol and Jessica's friendship is too good to pass up, so it started in school rather than later. Hank is Beast for those familiar with Marvel comics in general, and I thought it would be fun to include an intellectual foil to Carol, while also going a little outside the box for people she's interacted with a bunch. And Maria Rambeau being a year her senior is just so I could have that inborn friendship and slight mentorship. 
> 
> This finishes establishing all the general pieces of the story. Carol at home, Carol at school, Carol at internship, Carol and Tony's friendship. Next time I post, we'll be back to Carol at her new internship, with another familiar face from the history of SHIELD.


	5. Beginternship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol arrives at the SHIELD facility for her first day as a secret intern. She meets Melinda May, fresh recruit from the Air Force, who takes her to the orientation and is mostly short with Carol. The physical tests prove a bit too hard for Carol, and she gets her callsign. 
> 
> Later, she gets a ride home from Tony Stark and runs into her best friend, Jessica Drew, at a convenience store.

Carol’s father drops her off at the gate, after trying to chat the soldier up out front. He gets nothing from the soldier and drives off in a huff, leaving Carol alone with a big dude equipped with several firearms. That an aviation tech company would need armed guards at the entrance _doesn’t_ seem curious to her father, is curious to Carol.

The guard gate is a small building that may hold five or six people and a substantial amount of firepower. There’s lots of tree cover coming up to the property, and the fences have their barbed wire and electrical nature concealed very well.

There’s a reason Carol snuck in on a vendor’s truck and didn’t try to over/under the fence.

“Am I just supposed to walk in from here?” Carol asks.

The soldier gets some communication in his earpiece and looks her up and down, as if seeing her for the first time. “They’re sending someone to pick you up.” He glances at her mohawk and leather bomber jacket. “Are you one of those genius tech people Mr. Stark’s always hiring?”

Carol shifts uncomfortably. “Close enough, I guess. Are you just some dude with a gun at the gate?”

He chuckles. “Private Longmire to you.”

“Intern Danvers.”

His head shakes. “I know we’re not really supposed to talk shop out here because of directional microphones and whatnot, but Stark really does try to run this place like a business, doesn’t he?”

Carol shrugs. “I wouldn’t know, I’ve only talked to him a few times.”

“Well, good luck in there. Don’t let the real stuff get you down.”

A black sedan comes around the corner of a building down the road a ways, and pulls to a stop near the guard gate. Its tinted window rolls down to reveal a young Chinese woman maybe just a few years older than Carol, hair pulled back in a severe bun, scowl on her face.

“They said you were young, but I didn’t realize I was picking up a toddler.”

“I’m almost 16, thanks.”

The woman smirks. “Longmire, do you think any of this is particularly legal?”

The soldier, Longmire, grunts as he is walking away. “I try not to think about it, May.”

“Probably best not to. Stark gets what he wants and we all suffer.”

“I’m standing right here,” Carol says. She stifles the urge to swear at this woman, at least until she knows her rank.

“Don’t sass me, Intern. And get in, we’re gonna miss orientation.”

Carol gives a last look at the gates. It still doesn’t feel entirely real, this whole thing. It’s starting to. But not quite yet.

 

The car ride is uncomfortable if only because May is short and curt. She is actually short, too. Hard to tell from the seated position, but the woman’s seat is pulled way forward. Carol’s probably got her by two inches at least, and she’s still got growing to do.

“So are you someone’s assistant, or a soldier, or?” Carol asks.

“Soldier, pilot.”

“A pilot?” Carol is not expecting that, but maybe she should have considering the woman said they were going to miss orientation.

“Don’t I look it?”

“Not really? Can you reach the controls in a jet or do you need a booster seat?”

“Tiny packages, Danvers.” It doesn’t get a reaction out of the woman like Carol hopes. Her normal defense mechanism of getting a rise out of people is going to waste out here among all these serious, no-nonsense adults.

“Tiny packages are easy to lose.”

“The metaphor falls apart if you try to extend it.”

“So your name is May?”

“Melinda May, Airman First Class. You can call me Mel or May.”

“What about Linda?”

That receives a glare and Carol does her best to stifle her grin. “So you actually fly? What’s your callsign? Did you get to fly Mr. Stark’s experimental jet?”

“Yes, Goose, and not yet. Why do you know about that?”

Goose. Really? “Really? You went with a Top Gun callsign?”

That earns a genuine smile from May. “Look, that movie is awesome.”

“Who’s Maverick? And Iceman? And Charlie?”

“Not important.”

“Are they here?”

“That’s why it’s not important.”

“Are they… dead?”

May scowls. “No, Jesus, Danvers. We came up together as E-3 and now we’re all out doing different things.”

“I always see it referred to as A1C,” Carol says. She knows the Air Force rank designations by heart.

“Read a lot of history books and you’ll see it that way.”

The drive through the base is taking longer than Carol expects. She had barely scratched the surface of the S.H.I.E.L.D. grounds when she snuck in, it seems.

“So you’re a pilot working for S.H.I.E.L.D.? You seem young for a secret agent.”

“Probably because I’m not an agent yet. They recruit young,” she says, glancing at Carol, “but never so young as you.”

“Any advice?”

“Go back to being a kid.”

“Any advice I’ll actually listen to?”

“Stand up for yourself and don’t let the adults scare you.”

“I guess that includes you?”

May grins. “You can try. Just wait until we start sparring.”

Carol can’t help but smile back. Melinda May is offputting, but maybe there’s a friendship to be had here.

They park in a nondescript lot in front of a big, square, gray building with few windows and fewer doors.

May says, “This is it, Danvers. You’ll probably spend more time in here than you want to.” They get out of the car and walk towards the only door in the building.

“I can handle some boring classwork type stuff, or boot campy things.” She isn’t sure on the latter part, if she’s honest with herself.

“Boot camp almost definitely, but as Stark’s new pet project you’ll likely find more interesting things ahead.”

She doesn’t like being referred to as a pet project, but also she thinks she needs all the allies she can get at this point.

But then May turns to her at the door and says, “Here’s where the niceties end, Danvers. You’re here, you’re a civilian, you’re a minor. None of that means anything once you’re signed up. We don’t go easy around here.”

“I can handle tough.”

“We’ll see.”

They go through the door, sign in at a small desk with a bored attendant, and enter into a smaller office somewhere inside the maze of small hallways and offices.

“Ah, good, you’re here,” a voice says. Inside the room are half a dozen young people, probably closer to May’s age than Carol’s, sitting at what could be regular high school desks. At the front of the makeshift classroom is a man, probably in his 30s, a Captain by his bars.

He continues, “New recruits, meet the newest among you. Carol Danvers, civilian.”

Six hostile faces greet her, which the Captain doesn’t seem to notice in the slightest. Carol stands tall and defiant even though she’s beginning to feel like this is a huge mistake.

She gives a tiny head nod to the group. None of them have leather jackets and ripped jeans. None of them are sporting an outlandish haircut. They are, one and all, professionally dressed or in military attire.

Their stares and glares tell Carol one thing: she does not belong here.

“Carol, it’s going to be interesting having you around,” the Captain says. “Take a seat, we’re behind schedule.”

“Yes, sir,” she says, and the group titters. May included.

Carol sits through the orientation, understanding almost nothing that Captain Stanwick says. He is going over breach protocols, and clearances, and everything that Carol knows nothing about beyond what she’s seen in movies. Some of this she covered already during her initial round of meetings and NDA signings, but it seems opaque and unknowable to her now.

After an hour of struggling to keep up, Carol yawns.

Captain Stanwick says, “So sorry, Ms. Danvers. Are we keeping you from your afternoon nap?” Several of the recruits chuckle.

Carol stiffens. Bastard. “No, Sir.”

“I’m sure we can find you a quiet room and a mobile to lull you to sleep.”

She resists the urge to be sarcastic and mean, though she is pretty sure her eye twitches when the others laugh again. “Sorry, Captain.”

Captain Stanwick grins, no doubt feeling superior that he’s gotten one over on this upstart.

“If we’re boring you, Danvers, we can just call this whole thing off.”

“It’s okay, not everyone can be an effective public speaker.” She nearly claps a hand over her mouth. It just came out.

The recruits all go quiet and the Captain glares. He strides over to her desk and Carol tries not to shrink back from his advance.

“Back talk to a superior officer is usually a bad idea,” he says, “but then, I guess you’re not enlisted and think the rules don’t apply to you.”

Apologize. Just apologize. Just do it. She grits her teeth. “I’m sorry, Captain. I let my frustration get to me, and it comes out as sarcasm.”

“We beat sarcasm out in the first six weeks of enlistment. We beat out defiance in the first six months.”

“Just get Stark to make you some robots if all you need is obedience.” Shut up shut up shut up what are you doing.

May interrupts from a few seats over. “Just cut it out, kid. He’ll make us all run.”

And Captain Stanwick grins. “Okay, everyone’s dismissed. Head over to the medical facilities for a full battery of fitness tests and wellness checkups.”

Carol stares for a moment as the rest of the recruits look disappointed that the free show is over. Captain Stanwick’s smile only grows bigger.

“You and Airman May get to go first.”

 

Carol is strapped into the G machine after an hour of physical fitness and poking and prodding from a medical examiner who looks as bored as Carol was in that classroom setting. He was certainly dispassionate about the whole thing. She is wearing a too-big jumpsuit, having had to discard her regular clothing and tamp down her hair to put on the helmet.

Through an intercom speaker she hears Captain Stanwick. “Okay, Danvers, you’re all clear. We’re going to start things nice and slow and then ramp up until you hit the kill switch.”

“Where’s the kill switch?” she asks. There’s a large array of controls inside the makeshift cockpit, and it only faintly resembles standard fighter jets.

Stanwick says, “All right, here we go.” Bastard. Of course he’s doing this on purpose. Kill switch, kill switch. This thing probably doesn’t even have a kill switch inside.

With an ungainly lurch her pod rocks into motion and her stomach leaps a little bit. She’s dreamed of this for years. Pilot training. She can do this. It’s just spinning in a circle.

Maria is going to be so jealous.

It starts off okay, like a carnival ride. She can do this. It’s almost fun. The spinning is a little disorienting, but she’s ridden things like the Zipper where she was certain she’d go flying off the thing and die. This is significantly safer and more well-crafted.

It speeds up. It goes from cheap thrill carnival ride to her pressed deep into her seat, fingers clenching, head back. It’s faster than any roller coaster she’s ever ridden.

And yet, she can still do this. She feels it in the pit of her stomach.

Then she remembers what she ate for lunch, grease and starch. And that feeling in her stomach isn’t courage, it’s unrest. Her body is in open rebellion.

It speeds up again, and she feels faint. If there is a kill switch, she’d kill someone to use it right then. What did the doctor say? What has she read in the pilot training manuals and NASA documentaries? People can pass out at 3Gs. There are roller coasters faster than 3G. A space shuttle launch is 3G.

Certain jets can go faster. The body can handle more than that, in limited amounts, with specialized equipment and training. She has neither.

Her stomach is roiling. She is swallowing saliva.

And it speeds up one more time.

Then it happens. Just as she begins to black out, vision graying, her stomach gives up the ruse that it can do this, that she can do this, and a disgusting mass jettisons from her mouth and nose, only to be suspended in front of her for what seems like a minute, but must have been no more than a millisecond, before it coats her face. Cheeseburger and french fries.

The G machine slows down and she’s faintly aware that she’s screaming, or at least making some pitiful sound with her throat. There’s some commotion through the intercom, someone yelling, someone getting yelled at?

She’s afraid to open her eyes. Her entire world is partially digested cheeseburger and shame.

She practically falls onto the floor when May releases her straps and tries to help her get out. She wipes her face with a towel that May hands her, waiting for the laughter. Waiting for the embarrassment.

The other recruits stand nearby, and Carol pulls her helmet off; though lack of facemask was her undoing, the rest of her head is blessedly free of puke.

May kneels down beside her and grimaces. “That was tough to watch, Danvers. You ok? You need a medic?”

Enough time has passed, she thinks. The world isn’t gray, her stomach isn’t churning, and all she feels is a white hot rage. Rage at herself for thinking she could do this; for goading Captain Stanwick; for breaking into this base in the first place.

She shakes her head. “I’ll go clean up and call my folks.”

Before May can say anything, Captain Stanwick enters from the control room, hat in hand. “Danvers, I’m going to do this once and once only. I’m sorry for pushing you when it was clear you couldn’t handle it.”

Carol waves a hand, hiding her crimson face behind the pukey towel. “I’m sorry for being sarcastic. Feel free to tell Stark you were right about me.”

“I’ll tell him no such thing,” Stanwick says. “And I was wrong about you.”

“I threw up at only 5Gs.”

May says, “It was 3Gs for me.”

One of the other recruits says, “I passed out at 4.”

Stanwick quiets them all with a wave of his hand. “You’re not ready to go flying a fighter just yet, but you’ve got the constitution to carry you far, Danvers.”

She is deflated, ready to give up. She is not ready for this quiet praise.

She says nothing.

“If I might, Captain?” May asks, taking Carol by the elbow. “I’ll help her get cleaned up.”

“There’s just one more thing,” Captain Stanwick says, nodding. Carol stares at him, sure this is the moment it’ll all go topsy turvy and she’ll be kicked out.

“It might be a little early, but I think you’ve earned it today.” He hands her a fresh printout of Air Force Personnel, with all her stats and name and everything laid out.

“This is?” Carol asks, but she sees it just then.

Callsign: “Cheeseburger”.

And she laughs. She can’t help it. There is nothing else in this world funnier at this moment.

Stanwick offers his hand to her and she shakes it while trying to contain her laughter. “Like I said, kid, you earned it. Airman May will get you situated, and then we’ve got some more protocols to cover. Can you handle the boring stuff a little while longer?”

She nods dumbly.

She can handle anything at this point.

As she is led away by Airman May, the other recruits start a small chant, and even though it’s the most embarrassing moment of her life, it’s also now a weird point of pride.

“Cheese-bur-ger, Cheese-bur-ger, Cheese-bur-ger,” they chant.

She can never explain how she got the callsign. Not ever.

 

Carol can still smell the vomit, she swears she can. They let her take a shower and everything, and now her hair is limp around her shoulders, still drying. At least she didn’t wear her jacket to the vomit party.

She still has her Air Force Personnel mock sheet, tightly folded in an inner jacket pocket. Cheeseburger. Maria really isn’t going to believe any of this.

And she desperately wants to tell Jessica all about it, knowing she can’t.

She’s at the gate, standing in the chill breeze, waiting for her dad to show up and take her home. It’s getting dark and she’s just thinking about asking the guard, still Private Longmire, if she can use a phone when a familiar red Mustang pulls up and honks.

“That car isn’t allowed inside the gates,” Longmire muses.

Carol’s laughter snorts out of her. “Can’t imagine why. I’ll see what he wants.”

He nods and unlocks the gate for her, and she already knows what this is. She turns back to Longmire and says, “Thanks for keeping me company, Private.”

“My dubious pleasure, Intern Danvers. The fake mohawk look was nice. Badass.”

She smiles at that. Most guys tell her she’d look cuter with a regular cut and style.

“It’s like cockroaches, never truly gone.”

Tony honks again and she flips him off behind her back. “I’m gonna catch a ride with him. See you in a couple days!”

She darts off and Longmire waves. It’s so much easier to be nice to people when they’re not all immature jerkwads.

Like the one in the Mustang.

The window rolls down and Tony smiles. He’s still wearing sunglasses even though the sun has been hidden behind trees for 20 minutes.

“You almost look like a regular girl,” he says, “which is kinda boring.”

“Let me guess. You already told my folks you’d bring me home.”

“Less told and more begged. Which is cuter to you? I can change my story.”

She sighs. “You know the word for what you are, right?”

“Charming? Handsome? Debonair?”

“Incorrigible.”

“Not mutually exclusive. Get in, your dad scares me enough that I wouldn’t try anything even if you were into it.”

“I’m glad you recognize when a girl isn’t.”

He grins. “Doesn’t hurt to flirt.”

“I might,” she says as she waves at Longmire one last time. She gets in the passenger seat and buckles her belt. “You haven’t been drinking or anything dumb, have you?”

“I am a responsible partier, thank you very much. Only like three beers.” He flashes another grin. “Kidding, kidding.”

He backs up fast enough to scare her, but again, she feels calm because he is in control of this vehicle. If she ever needs to rob a bank… She’ll just ask him for a loan, she supposes.

“Your parents are nice, if a little aloof,” Tony says as they get going. It’s not a long drive home, maybe 20 minutes, but he’ll likely get her there in 15.

Carol sighs. “How many baby pictures did Mom show you?”

“Only the one where you were three or so, covered in flour and crying.”

“That’s her favorite one. She tell you the story?”

“You thought it was sugar and climbed on a counter to get at it. When it wasn’t, you threw the cup and slipped on the flour, tumbling down the stepstool, clutching the bag of flour on your way down.”

“Lucky I wasn’t hurt. Anything more than my tiny pride, I guess.”

“How was your first day? You don’t look like you cried, but your hair is wet.”

She is taken by surprise at the hook in the conversation. “It was a day. I thought I might see or talk to your dad, since he invented this whole thing for me. Or that Agent Carter.”

“Dad’s away on business, last minute. Aunt Peggy is a trip, and you probably don’t really want her around until you get your bearings. Nothing is ever good enough for her.”

“She signed off on me,” Carol suggests.

He whistles appreciatively. “Touché.” They wind through a few country roads until they come out on a state route, which will turn into an interstate and then drop a few miles from her neighborhood.

Carol leans her head against the cool window. She’s tired and she still has homework to do, and keeping up with Tony’s verbal sparring is doing her no favors.

“If I close my eyes, will you get me home safe?” she asks.

He turns the music down and nods. “Sure. Catch a few winks. Maybe you’ll dream of me and think better of your anti-Tony position when you wake up.”

She makes a gagging sound, but smiles and closes her eyes. The smoothness of the rumbling engine lulls her and she does fall asleep for a few minutes, until he exits the highway.

She comes awake with a start only to calm down. “Sorry. I didn’t snore, did I?”

“Only a little. Can’t believe you fall asleep in cars so easy. Must have been nice as a little kid, parents just drive you around for a few minutes.”

“Opposite, actually. Can we stop for a soda?”

He nods and pulls into the next gas station, just a couple miles from her house. “I could never sleep in cars when I was a kid. Road trips were the worst.”

“I guess I’m just that boring, huh?” Tony jokes as he parks. He hands her a $5 bill. “Get me a coffee and I’ll pay for your soda?”

She takes the money. “If I’m not girl material, I’m servant?”

“That’s- no- damn, Carol. I’m speechless. I have less of speech.”

“Somebody’s gotta keep you in check,” she says, closing the door on whatever retort he has. She nearly bowls over her best friend when she starts walking, and Jessica has to grab her to stay up.

“Whoa, there, Carol! I know he’s cute, but you gotta watch where you walk, eh?”

She has neither the energy or the wit at this moment to deal with anything but keeping Jessica standing, and she stifles a cry as she pulls Jessica in for a deep, bone-crushing hug.

“It’s so good to see you, Jessica,” she says. “I’ve had a hell of a day.”

“And here I thought the night was going to end with a whimper. Are you okay? You don’t look like you’ve been crying, but you look distracted or something. And why’s your hair wet?”

She leans back from the embrace and puts her hands on Jessica’s shoulders, just taking in her presence. “Being an intern is hard. I’ll tell you all about it at school tomorrow, ok?”

Jessica nods and glances at the Mustang. “Is this him? Can I meet him?” She eyes the window for a moment and lets Carol go. “I’m gonna meet him.”

“Be my guest. He’s a flatterer.”

Inside the store, Carol watches as her best friend knocks on Tony’s window and begins to effortlessly flirt and laugh. Carol’s anger wells up for a moment, and she’s not sure why or at whom. At her friend being so carelessly attractive? For having Tony’s attention? For Tony having hers? She turns away, face red, and buys the coffee and soda. Root beer. The one with caffeine. She’ll need it.

Jessica’s mom is waiting at the pump island for Jessica, and she honks impatiently as Carol is leaving the store. Jessica smiles and waves bye to Tony, then throws her arms around a drink-laden Carol, pecking her lightly on the cheek.

She whispers, “He’s way too much trouble. I think I like it. Give your folks my best, k?”

Carol nods, wishing the hug would last longer, needing the contact, needing the reassurance. But Jessica whisks off, the smell of her perfume lingering as her curly hair bounces away.

Carol waves at Jessica’s mom as they drive away, and Tony opens the door for her from inside. She hands him the coffee and takes a long drink of her root beer before sitting down.

“She’s a sprite if ever there was one,” Tony says. He sips the coffee and grimaces. “I forgot that gas station coffee should be outlawed.” Then he drinks more of it.

“Surprised you’d let anyone, even yourself, drink in here.”

“Reupholstering a Mustang is a Tuesday for a Stark.”

She wants to hit him for the flirting, for the privilege. Instead she smiles. “I can’t tell if you’re joking, but I don’t really care right now. Take me home, Tony.”

“Yes, ma’am. Jessica wasn’t interested in me, was she?” he asks as they pull back out and drive the last couple miles to her home.

Carol can’t decide how to answer him. She wants to be sarcastic, but that bone seems to be broken right now. She opts for truth.

“She’s out of your league, but that doesn’t mean you can’t try.”

“She’s out of mine? That’s novel.”

Carol thinks Jessica is out of everyone’s league.

As they pull up to the curb outside her home, Tony grins again and she interrupts him as he is about to say something, “You’re gonna be charming and flirty and I’m going to deflect, yet again, and we can continue this another day.”

His mouth closes and the grin fades away. “You are definitely something else, Carol Danvers. I like it, but I’ll back off. For now.”

“At least let me get my bearings with this new secret internship before you complicate it further.”

“That sounds like a deal. Have a good night, Carol.”

She waves him off as she goes inside, to deal with homework and lies and raw emotions she doesn’t know what to do about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! I am having a blast with this Intern Danvers slice of life, and am currently working out an overarching plot that isn't just "a day in the life" of Carol Danvers, teenager.


	6. Truth and Brutality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol is tired and testy after her stressful first day at the SHIELD Internship, and she is less nice to her friend, Jessica, and other students as a result. She gets in a fight and has to deal with Hank McCoy, as well.

Carol doesn’t really like coffee, but she feels like a zombie this morning. Staying up late--by the light of her small desk lamp--to finish her homework was a bad idea, but she really didn’t have a choice last night. Her work load at school isn’t going to get any easier unless she dumps her hard classes for the regular versions, and she really doesn’t want to do that.

And then there’s Jessica. Carol sees her in the halls waiting at Carol’s locker, like she does most mornings, and her bushy black hair is bobbing to some tune only she can hear. Carol couldn’t even muster up the energy to put her hair in spikes this morning, and it all lays flat and limp down the side of her head.

“You look like sleep is a distant memory,” Jessica says.

Carol grunts noncommittally as she opens her locker and removes books for her classes until lunch, tossing them haphazardly into her bag.

“That bad, huh?”

Carol stifles a yawn as they walk to home period. Their last names both starting with “D” guarantees they have home room together every year. “You saw me last night, it only gets worse from there. I only got like four hours of sleep ‘cause of homework.”

“But you got it all done, huh?”

She nods, yawning again. The coffee should be kicking in any time now. Her eyes are heavy, like her conscience, and her desire to buckle and tell Jessica everything is stronger than ever.

“I didn’t want to say anything last night,” Jessica says, “but your breath was pretty bad. Did you throw up at the internship?”

They walk into their homeroom class and sit down with the other students as they’re filtering in, and Carol gets quiet. She nods sheepishly and Jessica frowns, leaning close.

“Was it nerves or something? They make you run until you puked?”

Carol’s head shakes and she feels a little dizzy from the motion. The caffeine is kicking in, but it’s like filling the tank on a car that desperately needs an oil change. “It was kinda like a hazing ritual. I met a bunch of pilots and we got to use the G machine they have on-site, and I couldn’t really handle it.”

“Bastards,” Jessica says, “they shouldn’t be doing that.”

“No, it’s fine.  I got it out of the way on the first day. Should be smooth from now on.”

Jessica’s eyes squint at Carol, and her skin crawls with feeling so seen. “If you say so.”

“I do.” She didn’t mean to be short with her friend. She leans in and whispers, “Sorry. It was a hard day and today is just a lot.”

Jessica reaches out and squeezes Carol’s hand. “It’s cool. What’s that thing we learned in Health class last year? Take care of yourself first. Or as the flight attendants would say, ‘Make sure your mask is secured before helping others.’”

Carol forces a weak smile as the bell rings and home room begins. Her mask must have gotten lost in the shuffle.

 

By lunch, Carol has been short-tempered with at least one teacher, who threatened detention, and several male students who like to catcall her in the halls as their own funny joke about “hitting on the Nazi chick”. On her way to the cafeteria, with the caffeine in her system jangling raw nerves and making her feel like a vampire hating the light, one of the football players calls out to her.

“Hey Danvers, your hair looks normal today, you finally giving up all the rebel punk RA RA?”

She wisely flips him off as she passes, and then not so wisely stops in her tracks when he responds, “That finger for your girlfriend, Jessica? I heard she needs at least three, knuckle deep, to feel anything.”

His friends titter and chuckle, and Carol sighs. She turns to the group, sees the four of them in their letter jackets elbowing each other at his supposed wit. Make fun of Carol all day long. Do not bring Jess into it. Not today. Not ever.

She drops her bag at the feet of the group and leans in. She’s tall for a girl her age, but he’s still several inches above her. “This,” she indicates her middle finger, still flipping him off, “is the finger I use to show boys what it feels like to have you inside them.”

His friends all laugh as he doesn’t back down. He stands taller and more imposing. He is trying to use tactics that don’t work on people who know better. She doesn’t shrink back like a good little victim, and stands her ground. The students around are all watching now, and she knows she shouldn’t be doing this. Not in her state of mind. But this jagoff has it coming.

He says, “You’d need a whole fist to measure up to me, dyke.”

And Carol’s finger curls in to her hand, into a fist, and that fist drives into this jerk’s gut, taking the wind out of him before he realizes it’s happening.

He gasps and sputters, falling back into the bank of lockers behind him. His friends close rank around him, but they don’t immediately jump her as she has seen them do to boys. They look disappointed in her, disapproving. To hell with them.

“I can have you expelled for that, Danvers,” he says between gasps, clutching at his stomach.

“Admitting to the entire school that you were assaulted by a girl? Good luck with that.” She picks up her bag and walks off, enjoying the whispers all around her about how she’s crazy. Fortunate there were no teachers or staff around to see it go down.

Carol makes it to the table where she and Jessica always sit. Her friend isn’t there yet, probably in the cafeteria line getting today’s cardboard pizza or chicken nuggets or whatever. Her stomach gurgles unpleasantly at the thought of food, but she’s more tired than she is hungry, and she puts her bag between her legs and her head cradles into her folded arms on the table. The chatter and clink of forks are deafening in the cafeteria, as usual, but today it sounds like so much white noise. Not even a distraction. Just a few minutes of eyes closed...

Jessica’s tray clatters to the table, and Carol sits up with a start.

“Shit, sorry,” Jessica says. “I didn’t think you were actually asleep.”

Carol waves it away. “Can I, uh, borrow your headphones?”

“Actually gonna sleep through lunch, huh?” Carol nods and Jessica fishes around her bag for a second, pulling out a tightly-wound coil of headphone cable. “Don’t tangle them up.” She tosses them to Carol, who barely catches them with her sleep-deprived slow reactions.

“I’ll buy you ten pairs if I do,” Carol agrees, putting the headphones around her head and letting the ear muffs cover her ears. The white noise of the cafeteria diminishes and Carol spares a tired smile for Jessica before putting her head down into the cradle of her arms again. Jessica runs a reassuring hand over Carol’s head and pats her shoulder, causing a shiver to run down Carol’s spine. Her hand withdraws and Carol steeps in the relative quiet, comfortable to let the lunch time pass her by in the company of her best friend.

Towards the end of lunch, Carol doesn’t feel better. She just feels sleepy again now that the caffeine has run its course, and she has a pulsing headache. Jessica stands up, her chair scraping the floor, and dumps her tray. Carol pulls the headphones off, trying to coil them up nice and neat like Jessica does, but gives up halfway through and sets them down where Jessica’s lunch tray was.

Jessica frowns as she sits back down. “You look worse than before.” She starts unwinding the headphone cord and relooping it across three fingers.

“That’s helpful,” Carol says, realizing she shouldn’t be shitty to her friend. “Sorry.”

“It’s cool, you’ll get me back at some point.”

Carol snorts. “Sure, when you have an internship with a molecular biologist and are feeling overwhelmed with Algebra and Social Studies, I’ll be right there to talk down.”

And that strikes a nerve with Jessica. She gets quiet, clips the headphone cord with a metal binder, and makes a show of stowing it back in her bag. “I’m your friend, Carol, but you’re being a bitch right now.”

Carol says, “Life’s a bitch sometimes.” What are you doing, you numbskull? Don’t piss off your best friend!

“I didn’t know your middle name was ‘Life’,” Jessica snaps back.

What is happening here? “Look, I’m not trying to fight you. I’m just tired and cranky and overwhelmed.”

“Then I suggest you figure out how to be a better friend when you’re all those things, because you’re not supposed to shit on your support group.”

“You don’t know what it’s like, Jess!” She might be screaming, she isn’t sure. “You float through life like some beautiful butterfly, hardly a care in the world.”

“Hardly a care? Is that what you think of me?” Jessica asks. Her fingers are curled tightly around her backpack strap, clenching so hard they’re white.

“It’s what I know of you.” Stop stop stop STOP, she screams in her head.

“I have my own problems, Carol,” Jessica hisses. “Things that hang over my head way worse than some temporary internship at some dumb company.”

“What college you’ll ask your parents to pay your way into is hardly the same thing.”

“Fuck you, Carol Danvers.” That snaps Carol out of her negative feedback loop. Never has that phrase been uttered between them. Tears stand unshed in Jessica’s eyes, and she pulls her glasses off as she stands up. “Deal with your own shit before you come after mine.”

And now all the spite and frazzled tiredness is swept away as Jessica leaves the table in a huff. It is replaced by a shredded anxiety ripping its way through Carol’s chest. Her heart aches, and it’s all her fault. Even if she believes what she said, she shouldn’t have said it.

 

Carol spends the second half of her school day in a daze of sleep deprivation and mild panic. When her final class comes around, History, she’s just trying to get through it without insulting anyone or getting into a fight. So far she’s managed to avoid the worst of it, and she’ll get gone just as quick as she can after class ends.

Then the teacher announces a group project on historical tragedies around the world, and where they’re--if they are--still happening today. She hates group projects; she always ends up doing the work for half the people in the group. They have to choose a topic before end of class, and then they have three weeks to research, write, and create a presentation on the subject.

She just sits with her head down as groups of two and three people get excited and join together. Friends, athletes, the stoner group, every little clique seems to break off. Normally she’d just partner with Jessica, but they don’t have this class together even if they weren’t having a fight.

She overhears the teacher call one of the football players over to his desk, and there’s a brief but heated discussion before the player stomps angrily back to his seat, scowling. He grabs his books and goes over to his friends, instead of over to Hank McCoy, who Carol is used to seeing the player partner with.

Hank and Carol are then called up together. Hank goes sheepishly, shoulders hunched, and Carol is too tired and anxious to argue or put up a fight.

The teacher looks at the two of them and sighs. “I’m not accusing you of anything, Henry, but I think it would be best if you didn’t partner with Mr. Thompson for a while. Let him stand or fall on his own merits.”

“And why am I up here?” Carol asks.

“Well, Mr. McCoy is now in need of a partner, isn’t that right, Henry?”

He says, “Yes, sir, but Carol isn’t exactly--”

“Don’t worry about that. I’m sure you’ll get along just fine. My two best students, unable to elevate their friends or accomplices.” He smirks and sends the pair away.

Carol isn’t totally surprised that Hank has been greasing the scores for athletes. Lots of the smart kids do it, either for money or to be left alone. Hank’s too big to be picked on, so he’s probably got a sweet little side gig.

“You do not appear to be in the best of moods today,” Hank says as he brings his bag over to an empty desk near her.

“I’m thrilled. I always wanted to work on a project with you,” she deadpans.

“Noted. We can concentrate on the project, then.” His brows furrow and she feels a little sorry for him. “I was thinking we could tackle religious persecution. No one else is really talking about it for their groups, and there are dozens of well-known historical atrocities committed in the name of religion. And in the Middle East and some other places, those same things are still going on today.”

“You want to compare Christianity to Islam?” Normally she’d jump at the chance to make her fellow students and the teacher squirm by reminding them all that Christianity was brutal and efficient back in its heyday. But right now it feels impersonal and boring.

“If nothing else, we can be assured we will be the presentation remembered,” he says, jotting down notes.

She shrugs. Then yawns. “What if we tackle something that’s more relevant to us, like gay rights, or abortion, or mutants?”

His voice squeaks as he says, “Mutants?”

“Yeah, they’ve been gaining a lot of attention, and they’re getting persecuted against just for who they are. We could compare them to any racially-motivated discrimination across the entire history of the world.”

Hank is quiet for a moment or two before saying, “The way you worded that suggests you believe that mutants are being persecuted and discriminated against, and that is wrong.”

“Of course it’s wrong. I mean, we don’t have any out this way, that we know of, but can you imagine how much hatred they’d get around here just for existing? Just for daring to have green skin, or scales, or the power to shoot lasers out of their eyes?”

“Not all of them have overt physical tells. Some just look like regular homo sapiens,” Hank says. “Some pass.”

“Which is BS if you ask me, having to ‘pass’ for normal, but I’d probably get told it’s not my business if I tried to fight for them.”

“Perhaps.” Hank McCoy smiles at her, and it is a genuine curling of the lips. “Perhaps they would instead look at you and thank you for siding with them. For giving them a greater voice.”

“Yada yada,” Carol says, waving her hands. “So mutants?”

“If it’s all the same to you, Carol, I would rather not.”

“Suit yourself.” Carol sits up, eager to finish this part of the assignment so she can go back to not caring about stuff for a little while. “Religious persecution it is.”

That settled, they spend the remainder of class deciding who would do what parts of the project, what kind of visual aids it would have, and just generally boring Carol to yawns. After the mess with Jessica, she knows better than to talk back.

The bell rings for class and Carol stands up eagerly, stretching and yawning still, anticipating an early afternoon nap as soon as she gets home.

Hank clears his throat and Carol glances his way. He’s packing up his bag and looks a little sheepish as the other students are flooding out, glad to be done with another day.

“If you’re free this afternoon, I thought you might like to get a jumpstart on the project. We can go to the library and get our resources sorted, start an outline for the presentation. We could have it near completion by the end of the week.”

That would normally be tempting, but Carol doesn’t have the mental energy today. Unless she gets more caffeine maybe? No, she shouldn’t push it.

“We have plenty of time, Hank. Just take it easy and we’ll figure out a time to work on it this weekend, okay?”

He nods and his disappointment is obvious. “Well, there’s no harm in getting started a little early. I’ll go to the library anyway and acquire several books so that we have them when the time comes. Have a good day, Carol.”

She waves at him as she is leaving the room. Should she try to find Jessica and apologize? Probably not. Jessica is no doubt still angry, and Carol’s a little angry, too. There is no reason Jessica should have been that upset.

As she is walking to meet up with Jessica, she halts in her tracks, causing an underclassmen to bump into her from behind. She practically skitters away from Carol in fright. News spreads quickly, as always.

She stopped because surely she can’t ride home with Jessica, not after lunch today. What a mess. The act of meeting up with her after school is so ingrained that she was still going to meet her after thinking about their fight only seconds ago.

Her shoulders slump even more as she goes to catch the bus instead. She sees the football player she socked in the gut eyeing her as she walks outside. Him and his friends. She has almost forgotten the whole incident in light of her fight with Jessica, but they’re not the type to let an insult like that go. None of them ride her bus, though, so she should be able to get home safe and can worry about that another day.

Carol sees the briefest glimpse of Jessica’s disheveled mane of hair bobbing through the crowd as Carol’s bus pulls away. Jessica’s mother picks her up, and Carol has always liked Jessica’s mom. She is a bit of a helicopter parent, but sometimes Carol thinks that would be better than the vague disinterest she gets from her own mother.

She drops into the first available seat on the bus after the driver confirms she’s supposed to be there, and after a few minutes the bus fills up and off they go. After a dozen or so stops, Carol peering blankly out at nothing as they drive, they pull up to her neighborhood’s bus stop, and ten or so kids she vaguely knows get off the bus with her.

They scatter to the four corners as the bus pulls away, and Carol hikes her bag onto her shoulders and starts the five minute walk to her house from the stop.

Within a minute, she feels the presence of a car creeping up on her from behind. Thinking it might be Jessica, wanting to make up, she turns with a swell of hope to find the football player and his buddies parked at the curb in a new Jeep Wrangler, hopping out with dark grins.

Carol knows better than to stick around and push her luck. At best they’re going to just harass her. At worst… well, there’s a couple different things she won’t contemplate, despite the fact they’re in the suburbs in the middle of the day.

She turns and runs. Three of the boys give chase while the football player hops back in the Jeep and revs the engine, driving after her.

She’s athletic enough, but these boys all hit their growth spurts and she’s still scrawny and short compared to them. One of them catches up while the others hoot and howl; he grabs her backpack and yanks on it, and she only just slips free of the straps before the force knocks her on her ass. She kicks up a faster run, looking for somewhere, someone, to hide her.

Adrenaline screams through her body and she runs, faster and faster, cutting through a front yard on the corner. She catches the briefest glimpse of the boys chasing her as she turns, and jukes away as he goes for a tackle, grunting into the sidewalk. But she ends up too close to one of the others. He yells “Bitch!” and trips her, kicking her in the side as she goes down.

She barely feels the force of his shoe or the ground rushing up to meet her as she stumbles, rolls, and loses all sense of direction. The others catch up now, surround her, and the Jeep pulls up next to the curb again, a terrible chariot with a prick at the reins.

He hops out again, and there’s no way she can get away a second time. Not surrounded and grounded. And to anyone looking in houses or on the street, it’s just some punk kid getting roughhoused. No one’s coming to help her.

“Danvers!” the football player shouts, almost sings, as he approaches. “You should have known better than to go off by your little lonely self after that shit you pulled today. You want to be treated like you have a dick, we’re gonna kick you in it.”

And now she’s just pissed. These jerkoffs are gonna roll her just for a little gutpunch in school? They jeer and snicker as he comes closer, and she knows her ass is kicked. But they don’t know the cost yet.

She waits until he rears back for a punter’s kick and throws herself off to the side, catching some of the force of the kick but taking him by surprise. One of his goons keeps her from leaving the circle, but all she wants to do is hurt them. All she wants to do is show them they can’t do this to other people without consequences.

She gets a heel kick into the guy’s shin and rolls away from the angry stomp of the football player, and throws a wild foot upwards, catching him in the junk just as the others crowd around her, kicking and punching. Her world is anger and fists and pain for the briefest of moments, then one of them is thrown off by a blur of blue, causing the others to fall back in confusion.

A man in a blue tracksuit and blue ski mask growls angrily at the others and throws himself at them sideways, bringing them both to their asses while he somehow dodge rolls away from them and into the guy Carol heel kicked, while Carol is trying to stand up.

He swings wildly with both fists, but the man in blue dodges like Muhammad Ali, kicking out at a seemingly impossible angle to trip him. Carol manages to get back to her feet, feeling that rage well up inside her. She kicks the football player in the side once more for good measure, then sees her backpack on the ground a dozen yards or so away. She had barely made it anywhere after that when it felt like half a mile!

She sprints over to her bag and runs off while the jerks are recovering and trying to get away from the man in blue. When the four of them start to rally and turn on him, he dashes into a sideyard, hops a fence with the apparent ease of a gymnast, and is gone. Carol disappears around another corner, having made enough distance to lose the boys and make her escape.

She is minutes from home even at a dead sprint, as she realizes she ran the wrong direction in her panic. She runs until her lungs hurt, and the adrenaline wears down, and all the aches and hurts from that vicious couple of minutes start to settle in.

She ends up in the backyard of a kid she used to babysit, figuring the worst they might do is tell her to leave. But it looks like the family isn’t home right now and she’s in the clear.

After a minute or two of her breathing slowing and a quick assessment of her wounds--nothing major or lasting, at least in the visible parts of her--the man in the blue tracksuit leaps over the fence a few yards away from her, and she almost falls down in surprise.

“Whoa, what the hell, dude!” she yells. “How’d you find me and who the hell are you?”

He regards her a moment, and she can see his eyes are conflicted, worried.

This guy saved her, and she’s giving him shit. Well, blame it on a sudden lack of trust in humanity.

“I’m not trying to be mean or anything,” she says, “but you’re kinda wearing a mask like you’re frickin’ Batman or something. What’s your deal?”

And the masked man removes his ski mask, revealing a shaggy-haired and spectacle-less Hank Fucking McCoy.

“Sorry, Carol. I assume by your tone that you’re not in need of medical assistance?” Carol shakes her head, dumbfounded. “That is good news. We should probably have a discussion about what just happened.”


	7. Not a Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol has a difficult conversation with Hank McCoy, and later finds out some bad news about Jessica while attempting to apologize to her.

_ We should probably have a discussion.  _ Carol stifles laughter, and holds a hand up when Hank looks mildly offended.

She says, “You just saved my ass by doing some ninja vigilante shit, and you are as calm as if we were talking about homework.”

Hank stiffens. “I believe the danger has passed; remaining calm is the best course of action.”

“Okay, ya freakin’ robot.” She offers her hand to him and he takes it. His hand is large and gangly, and it envelops hers completely. “Thanks, I guess.”

“You should not need to say thanks for assistance. I merely did what anyone should have when someone is in trouble.”

“Clearly Johnny and his buddies didn't get that memo,” Carol says. She stretches her arms and legs where she got kicked or punched, and lifts her shirt a few inches to see her stomach, checking for bruising or damage. When she looks back up to Hank, he is being a gentleman by looking anywhere but at her exposed belly.

She lowers her shirt, grinning at his propriety. “Before we talk about whatever the hell just happened, can you check out my back? I got a pretty bad kidney punch at some point.”

She turns and lifts her shirt again, leaning on the fence. She simply can't help poking at people when they are uncomfortable. 

“Am I just looking for bruising or…?” he asks. He is closer to her than she thought and she shivers at how quietly he moves.

“Bruising, tenderness, if I'm internally bleeding.”

“I am not a doctor.” 

“Just tell me if it looks bruised or swollen anywhere.” She runs a hand over one of the places she got kicked. “Here?”

It takes some goading, but he eventually gets over himself and inspects her back, even going so far as poking her where she indicates. It doesn't hurt much, and she hopes that means it won't do any lasting damage. 

She puts her shirt down and takes immense pleasure from Hank's furiously blushing face. “Your turn, blue boy. You get any boo boos I need to check?”

In truth he looks totally fine. He smiles and waves her away. “I believe I have just scrapes and cuts. I appreciate your concern.” His eyes shift from amusement to worry again. “I'm sure you want some answers.”

She holds up a thumb and finger barely separated. “Just a little. For starters, what's with the getup?”

Hank blushes again, and Carol enjoys his discomfort more than she cares to admit.

“I know it must seem like a, what did you say earlier, a ninja vigilante? That isn't far from the truth. Vigilante, I mean. I am no ninja.”

“Seriously? You're telling me you put on this blue tracksuit and mask and go hunting the suburbs for evil?” She can't contain her laughter.

“Not all the suburbs are like your neighborhood, Carol. There are a lot of small crimes in the trailer park, and some bigger ones.” 

She didn't realize Hank lives in the trailer park, and she immediately feels shame for the way learning that makes her feel bad for him. 

“Fair enough,” she says, “crime is crime is crime. But how did you find your way out here for my sake?”

Hank does her the favor of looking chagrined. “I heard Johnny and his friends in the parking lot planning to teach you a lesson when you got off the bus, and I followed them.”

“On what, your bike?” She can’t even picture it.

He sighs. “Can I trust you, Carol? I mean, really trust?”

“I don't know, man! You're throwing all kinds of craziness at me and I'm still trying to settle the whole ninja thing in my head.”

“Not a ninja,” he corrects her again. He looks over the fence to make sure no one else is around, and settles back into the fence slats, hands in his pockets. “Same question, Carol.”

“I guess you can trust me, Hank. Unless you're going to admit to stealing a car or some shit.”

He shakes his head. “I followed them in their car, but I was on foot. I ran and hopped fences and kept following until you got into trouble.”

“Calling bullshit on that,” Carol says. “We got on the highway for a minute. No one keeps up with that on foot.”

“If I had special abilities, I could,” Hank answers. He is pensive, and she gets the impression from his posture and tension that he’s ready to run the moment this goes south.

“Like Captain America? Get real, blue boy.”

He hesitates. “Not like Captain America.” Not “like” but still special? 

It hits her, and his reluctance earlier in class makes sense.

She whispers, “Mutant.”

He nods. The silence expands between them. Carol doesn’t know how to take this news. She stares at him and he stares back, waiting for a response. Waiting to know if her opinions from class are real or just posturing.

Waiting to know if he’s made a huge mistake.

She opens her mouth to speak, to say--she doesn’t know what--when Hank’s ears twitch. They actually twitch!

He says, “The people who live here are home, and they saw us through the window. We have to go.” He jogs over to the back fence, where he leaped over it before. Carol is still so gobsmacked by his admission that she doesn’t follow. Maybe they can explain their presence to the parents?

“They’re calling the police, Carol!” Hank hisses at her. He folds his hands together to make a ladder for her, and she gets moving. This is the suburbs, and the police get itchy trigger fingers for trespassers. She steps one foot onto his palms, where even her boots are engulfed by the hands. How has she never noticed just how big his hands are compared to the rest of him?

She expects him to gently lift her so she can get a second foot up and over the fence slats, but instead he tosses her wildly, and she’s up, gut dropping into her pelvis before weightlessness catches her. 

She’s flying. 

A wonderful moment where time seems to extend and she’s a bird, a jet, soaring. Free. 

Then she flails and rolls, coming down hard on the grass on the other side of the fence, thankfully not spraining or breaking anything. Hank lands next to her as she’s getting to her feet, and then grabs her wrist, pulling her along to a fence gate. Fortunately no one is home here, either, but a dog yaps endlessly inside the home, its claws tapping the glass sliding door, punctuating its barks.

They run. No one follows.

At the corner near her slice of the suburbs, Hank slows to a jog and then stops. Carol pulls up next to him, panting. She’s exhilarated and sweating, but he seems to be perfectly fine. Either he’s in way better shape than she is, or it’s a mutant thing.

She immediately curses herself for defaulting to “it’s ‘cause he’s a mutant”.

“You think we lost any trail?” she asks between breaths.

His head cocks to the side, like a dog listening to something only it can hear. “No one is coming for us, I think. But I should probably make myself scarce. They definitely saw a large man in blue before we got away.”

He doesn’t have a bag or anything to hide his clothing. Carol says, “You can come over if you want. I’m sure my dad has something that’ll fit you.”

He considers, then shakes his head no. “I appreciate the offer, but I think I had better just get out of the neighborhood entirely.”

Carol wants to knock him upside the head. If the police see him wearing all that, he’ll get questioned at a minimum. “Well, do you have a shirt on under that?”

“Of course.”

“So give me the top and the ski mask. I’ll stuff ‘em in my bag and bring it back to you tomorrow.”

He nods after a moment’s consideration, unzipping the blue tracksuit top to reveal a gray undershirt, no sleeves. It’s a little chilly for that, but not too bad.

She crams the clothing into her bag and he smiles. “I imagine this is not how you pictured your day going.”

She waves a dismissive hand. “It’s par for the course, lately. Look, we didn’t get to finish our chat, but if you don’t want people at school to know, I’m not gonna out you.”

And maybe she can tell him a secret or two in turn.

He nods, waves, and turns to jog away, and she calls after him.

“You’re not a freak, Hank. Being different doesn’t mean you’re a mistake.” She isn’t sure if that’s the right thing to say, or if she has the right to say it, but she feels like something needed to be said. 

He gives her a small smile, and jogs away, like he belongs here. Like this is his daily routine.

She shakes her head. Hank Fucking McCoy is a mutant. 

And a pretty good guy.

The couple of minutes it takes to walk to her home drains the last of the adrenaline from her system, and the real aches and pains start. She didn’t realize she had a split lip, and her ribcage hurts where one of the bastards kicked her right above the tits. She’ll be lucky if nothing is broken.

Her mind focuses on the moment when Hank lifted her into the air, when those brief seconds told her she was flying. When she felt weightless, untethered to the world around her. When she could be free.

If nothing else came of her new friendship with Hank, she would forever treasure that moment. 

Is Hank her friend now? They share a secret. Maybe they’ll be friendly towards each other, but friends?

Carol’s breath catches in her throat when she remembers her best friend is mad at her. 

She walks up the steps onto the porch of her home, forgetting her physical aches in favor of her emotional ones. As she comes into the house, her brother is already upstairs, playing Nintendo with one of his crusty friends. Dad isn’t home yet, of course. Won’t be for a couple hours. She heads for the phone near the kitchen, intending to call Jessica and patch things up.

“Jesus, Carol, what did you get into?” her mother’s voice exclaims from the kitchen as Carol picks up the receiver. Carol drops the phone back onto its cradle, turning to her mother. She completely forgot about the way she looks right now.

Marie Danvers cradles Carol’s face in her hands, examining her. There are no tears in her eyes, but a hot, quiet anger inflamed within.

“I’m okay, Mom.”

“Did you get in a fight with the Synewzki sisters again?” The Synewzki twins and Carol have a bit of a truce these days, but the last time Carol got in a fight, she had a black eye to match both of those bitches.

She isn’t sure what lie to tell her mother. “They couldn’t land a hit on me now even if they got the drop on me.”

“Well, do we need to call the police?” her mother asks, letting her face go. She doesn’t seem overly concerned with the physical damage.

“No, wouldn’t do any good anyway. I’m okay, Mom. They got it worse than I did, promise.”

“Doesn’t look like you broke anything, but your father may have a different opinion. You know how he gets about ladies doing unladylike things.”

She scoffs. “I think I know it better than anyone, Mom.”

Marie sighs. “Maybe you do. Go get cleaned up and do your homework. And maybe don’t wear all the scary makeup and leather jacket tonight? If you look normal for a change, maybe he won’t be as mad about the busted lip.”

She bites her tongue on “looking normal” and nods. The day has been too long and she is still exhausted from the stress. Maybe, for one night, she can do what her mother asks. 

Maybe she can get through the night without any more fighting.

She showers and puts on some of her clothes from last year. She’s had a growth spurt, but they just look like the skimpy sexy clothes that the popular girls wear now. Midriff showing, her bra clearly outlined in the tight shirt. It is patterned red, yellow, and blue, and she remembers when she wore this shirt every chance she could just because she liked the colors and the way it fit. 

In the mirror Carol examines her wounds. The black eye is already fading and her chest doesn’t hurt as much after the shower. Her split lip is raw, but it isn’t bleeding and she thinks it’ll be fine after a day or two. She heals fast. If she can just get the sleep she desperately craves.

Carol finishes her day in a haze of sleepiness and worry. Her homework is easy, her father hardly notices her injuries or “normal” look, her brother and his friend goad her about getting into fights.

The day feels completely normal. Except it isn’t. She isn’t. 

Later in the evening, she is fighting off sleep. She picks up the phone again and dials Jessica’s number. She doesn’t know what to say to her friend, except to apologize and hope it all goes away.

Jessica’s mother picks up the phone, her voice gravelly and coarse. Carol doesn’t at first register that it’s her.

She says, “Um, hi, may I speak to Jessica?”

Jessica’s mother sighs through the phone. “Hello, Carol, dear. Jessica’s… out right now.”

Carol notices the hesitation. “Out? Like she went to a friend’s house?”

“She’s visiting the doctor, Carol. Nothing serious.”

Nothing serious? Visiting the doctor this late in the evening means it must be somewhat serious.

“Is she in the hospital? Is she okay?”

“She’ll be fine, sweetie. Maybe not at school tomorrow, but she’ll be okay.”

Something is horribly wrong. “Mrs. Drew, can I visit--”

“Just come see her tomorrow after school, Carol. I have to go, thank you for calling. Jessica will be glad to hear it.”

Before Carol can respond, the line clicks and the dial tone drones on. 

Is Jessica sick? Is that what she meant when she got upset with Carol at lunch? 

Carol drops the receiver back onto its cradle. Everything is fine. Mrs. Drew said everything would be okay.

But parents lie. When her father noticed the split lip and asked Carol about it, Carol’s mother said it was because of clumsiness, she must have gotten a growth spurt and was awkward. Carol had let it go at that, and so had her father.

She looks at her family now, sitting in the living room, watching reruns of  _ Happy Days _ . Her brother is reading a comic book, her mother is crocheting a blanket, and her father is snoring lightly.

She picks up the phone again and makes another call.

 

Midnight rolls around and Carol sneaks out of her window, giving one last glance at the note on top of her desk that explains where she is going. She crawls down the trellis and drops to the grass, having done this multiple times now, and tightens her leather jacket against the chill. She should have put on different clothes under the jacket, but she is too anxious for that forethought.

A car creeps up without its lights on, and Carol verifies its driver before hopping in.

Carol says, “Before you say anything snarky or flirty, I already beat up one jock today.”

Tony laughs as he turns the headlights on and drives out of the neighborhood. “If you beat me up, you’ll still only have beaten up one jock today.”

“Cute. I mean--”

“I know what you meant,” he says. “You’re safe.”

“Thanks. Just… get me to the hospital and we can talk about repaying favors later.”

“You want to tell me why we’re going to the hospital at midnight without your parents knowing?” he asks, glancing at her. 

“I’m not pregnant or anything, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”

“You can stop jumping to conclusions about what I’m thinking and doing, for starters. Are you hurt, or are we visiting someone?”

She rubs her eyes. She’s being a bitch and knows it. But she’s twisted up with worry and sleeplessness and fleeting physical pain. 

“You met Jessica last night. She’s apparently having an overnight stay.”

“She didn’t seem sick yesterday,” he says. She can tell by the glint in his eyes, from the dashboard’s lights, that he likes Jessica. And she can’t tell whether the twinge in her chest is bruising or jealousy.

“I appreciate you coming to get me, Tony. I’m sure you were out racing or hitting on some models somewhere.”

“The thing about racing is that the ladies come to you when you win.”

She chuckles at his bad joke. “I really mean it, thanks.”

“Having a car phone is good for a couple things. ‘Damsels in distress’ is just one of them.”

She scoffs. “Call me a damsel again and someone’ll have to come save you.”

“Noted.” They drive without talking for a minute or two, listening to the rev of the engine and some synth rock on the radio. The city lights flicker and dance against the night, giving Carol something to focus on.

Finally he says, “So do you know what’s wrong with Jessica?”

“Broken heart, maybe,” she mumbles, and sighs. “I don’t know. We got in a fight and she said I didn’t really know what was going on with her. Next thing I hear she’s ‘visiting the doctor’ at night and won’t be at school tomorrow.”

“Could be nothing,” Tony suggests.

“Could be not nothing,” Carol says.

“So what’s your strategy when we get to the hospital? Visiting hours are long over and you’re not exactly family.”

Carol says, “About that…” 

 

She finds the room with the medical chart labeled “Drew, Jessica” on it. At the nurse’s station, Tony is causing a commotion and doing a commendable job pretending to be a hostile drunk. He catches her eye and nods imperceptibly while a security guard attempts to subdue him. She nods back and slips into the room, easing the door shut behind her.

It is a private room, dark except for the monitors set up next to the bed. She risks the lights just long enough to verify it’s Jessica, then turns them off again.

The brief image of Jessica, hair matted from sweat, face contorted in a sustained rictus of pain, body seeming so small in the hospital bed, asleep or unconscious, burns into Carol’s memory forever. 

There are machines she knows from hospital dramas, and at least one she doesn’t recognize. This one is hooked up to electrodes or something all around her body.

She stumbles through the room and finds the chair next to the bed, banging her knee against the bedframe. She stifles a cry, but Jessica doesn’t stir at all.

Carol isn’t sure what she thought she was going to do once she got here. Apologize? Cry? Yell at her friend for being sick?

She reaches out and pulls Jessica’s hand into hers. There are tubes attached to the back of her hand, feeding drugs into her body. Carol squeezes her friend’s hand, but Jessica doesn’t wake or react. The glow from the monitors illuminates her face, though, and Carol thinks the stress eases a bit. She wants that to be the case.

She can do that much for her best friend.

“Jess,” Carol whispers. “It’s Care-bear.” She hates the nickname, but Jessica gave it to her years ago and loves it. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but it doesn’t matter. Your mom says you’ll be okay, and I know you will. You’re a superhero, and heroes never get the flu.”

She feels dumb saying it, but she’s just rambling at this point.

“I’m staying all night, Jess. I’m not leaving your side. I’ll never leave your side if that’s what you want. I’m so sorry I said that stuff today. I’m an idiot. I’m a bitch. You deserve a you, and not a me.”

She wipes away tears she didn’t realize were there. Jessica is completely unresponsive, and if it wasn’t for the faint rising and falling of her chest as she breathed, Carol would think her dead.

A world without her best friend, her pillar, her rock. 

She says, “Fuck school, and Hank McCoy, and the internship, and everything else. I’m right here.”

I’m not going anywhere.

She falls asleep, her hand still in Jessica’s, her body hunched over the bedframe, head resting on Jessica’s leg. Carol is right where she should be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note that I have plans to continue this fic for a while yet, exploring the relationships and characters I have established up to this point, and perhaps adding more as I go. Carol, Jessica, Tony, Hank, Maria, Melinda May, Peggy Carter, and Howard Stark are all fun to write, so hopefully I come up with lots of fun conversations and scenarios for Carol to get up to with this motley crew!
> 
> The update schedule right now will be every two weeks, on Monday or Tuesday.


	8. Priorities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessica wakes to find Carol in her hospital room. Carol makes a mistake at school that could cost her a friendship, and she meets a familiar face at her secret internship later in the day.

It is nighttime when Jessica wakes, but there is a little glow from her monitors cascading across the room. Her mouth is dry; her skin is itchy where all the electrodes are attached; her hand throbs where the needle is placed; all of that pales in comparison to the relief that washes over her as she feels Carol’s head and arm resting on Jessica’s leg. It is quickly replaced with a flash of anger.

How dare she show up here like they hadn’t had the biggest fight of their entire friendship the day before.

Jessica is weak, lethargic. Treatment does this to her; normally she does it under cover of “weekend getaways” with the family, but the fight with Carol stressed Jessica so much, it turned it from a standard weekend treatment to an emergency.

She reaches her free hand out for the cup of water on the tray next to her, and manages to both hold the cup and take a sip without dribbling or splashing it everywhere. It clatters as she sets it back down, and this noise causes Carol to stir.

Her breathing changes, and she snorts a little, adjusting her face. She settles back in, and her breathing slows, grows heavy, and she is back to full sleep.

Jessica strokes Carol’s hair with her free hand, and her palm brushes Carol’s lip, enough that she feels the tape holding the split lip together. In the darkness, Jessica can’t see the rest of her friend very well, but she thinks there might be some discoloration around her eyes.

Oh, my sweet, stupid Carol, what did you get into without me?

Jessica smiles. Her eyelids are growing heavy again, and she suspects the next round of drugs is kicking in. She reaches her free hand over and places it on top of Carol’s. She squeezes the hand and whispers, “I’m glad you’re here, Care-Bear.”

Carol snores lightly in response as Jessica falls asleep again.

 

Carol comes awake with a start. Her back hurts and her ass is asleep. For a moment she doesn’t recognize where she is, but the warmth of Jessica’s hands on her brings her around.

The first rosy pink hints of dawn are showing outside the window. Jessica appears to still be unconscious, but maybe she woke at some point during the night. Carol extracts her hand from both of Jessica’s, careful not to nudge or jar the needle poking out of one of them, and leans back in the chair.

She has done herself absolutely no favors with this sleeping arrangement. She still has school, and Flight, and her internship after that, and she’s even more worn down than before.

Burning the candle from both ends, they say.

Well, Carol is going to have to prioritize. There’s no more time for sleep right now, and Jessica’s probably not waking up any time soon. Her insistence that she wasn’t going anywhere the night before was a wonderfully romanticized ideal, but now she needs to take care of herself and finish making up with Jess later.

She spares a couple of minutes to write a quick note on the pad she finds among Jess’s things:

_You’re cute when you snore, Jess Drawed. Sorry about yesterday, I’m a jerk but I’m gonna be better. You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong, but I’ll come around after my internship all the same. I’m here for you, Jess. I always will be._

She signs her name C.D. with a badly drawn mohawk and tucks the note into Jessica’s hand. As she is withdrawing her fingers, a tiny green electric glow seems to pass between their hands. Green? Must be static electricity and she’s been in the dark too long. Her hand tingles a little bit, though.

Carol looks Jessica over one more time; she is pale and looks a little gaunt, but there’s nothing Carol can do for her. She leans down and smoothes the curls from Jessica’s face, kisses her forehead.

“See you soon, Jess,” she whispers.

Carol sneaks back out of the hospital as the early morning rounds are just beginning, and no one pays her any attention. In the parking lot, she finds Tony’s Mustang with a snoozing Tony inside it, which is lucky since she wasn’t sure how she was going to get home. Tony’s been far too good of a friend for only knowing her a few days.

She grins and bangs on the window, yelling “HYDRA ATTACK!”, and Tony comes up out of his slumber like a bat out of hell, nearly punching the glass.

She hops in the passenger side, laughing, while Tony is doing his best to control his breathing.

He says, “Next time just shoot me, Danvers. You know, I have defense training and stuff.”

“Like falling asleep alone in a hospital parking lot?”

He shrugs, starting the engine and yawning, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Thought you might be like, coming back out quickly, but I guess not. Going home?”

“If you please, Jeeves.”

“You seem in better spirits today,” Tony says, revving the engine a couple times for good measure and pulling out of the hospital parking lot.

“Maybe I’m delirious from sleep deprivation,” Carol says, stretching her back. “Sleeping hunched over is a bad idea, just so we’re clear.”

“Nah, you’ve got a shine in those pretty eyes. You figured something out, didn’t you?”

She lets the compliment roll off her back. “I guess maybe I figured out a thing or two.”

“Is coffee one of your priorities?”

“Maybe wait ‘til after you drop me off? I need to sneak back in to my room if I’m gonna pull off the whole ruse of ‘been here all along’ this morning, and smelling of coffee isn’t gonna help.”

Tony nods. “I miss the days of sneaking out.” He laughs. “Not really. It’s thrilling, but it doesn’t last, and freedom to come and go as an adult is much better.”

“I’m sure a fat trust fund helps.”

“I think they’d refer to mine as extra chunky, if we’re being honest.”

They enter her neighborhood and she says, “Wait. Let me think this through for a sec.” She considers her neighbors and her parents and sighs. “Drop me one street over. I can sneak through the back alley fences and back into my room without you getting spotted by nosy early risers.”

“I would definitely appreciate not getting arrested for corruption of a minor.”

“Only getting arrested?”

“What else is there to do but corrupt youth?” He smiles as he pulls to a stop a street away from her home. Carol can’t help but return his infectious grin.

He says, “At the risk of ruining it all, is your friend okay? I assume she has to be or you wouldn’t be so chipper.”

She sighs as she opens the door and hops out. “I don’t know about Jess, but her mom seems to think she’ll be okay. She’s strong. I have hope and all that.”

“If you need anything, you know how to find me,” he says as she closes the door. He drives off without any additional overt flirting.

What does he possibly get out of this thing between them? Carol doesn’t know and maybe doesn’t want to know. He’s been nice so far, treated her like a proper person and not just some conquest. She hopes he really feels that way.

She ducks into the backyard as the sun is just cresting the horizon, and climbs the trellis back into her room. It is quiet, and dark. Her parents haven’t gotten up yet. The smell of coffee is just hitting the air.

She crumples the note on her desk and stuffs it into her bag. She’ll throw it away at school in case her parents get clever and start digging through her garbage.

She has about twenty minutes before the house wakes up, and half an hour before her alarm goes off. She hops in the shower and takes her time, letting the heat soothe her sore neck and back from sleeping in such an awkward position. Carol makes sure to get her spikes up and running and all her piercings situated before heading down to breakfast.

No one comments on her about anything, which she is silently thankful for, but also maybe just a little sad that they didn’t notice she was gone or that her attitude is improved today.

“Is that boy picking you up again?” her father asks, “Or are you catching the bus like everyone else today?”

“Bus. Tony was just being nice, Dad.”

He grumbles something about nice guys being the worst kind of guys, but lets it go. “Who’s driving me to my internship after Flight?” she asks while getting toast and bacon.

“I’m working late, your mother will do it,” her father says.

Mom nods. “I want to see what this place looks like anyway.”

Carol says, “You’ll see some fencing and a guard tower, it’s a big campus.”

“Well, all the same. Our daughter disappears into some secretive company’s _campus_ and I’d just like to know it’s not some cult.”

“Mom,” Carol says, and Steve follows up with, “Can I join a cult, too?”

Their father says, “You can do whatever you want when you’re an adult and I’m not paying for it anymore.”

“I guess I’m gonna join a cult, then?” Steve says. “Cool. Maybe I’ll form a cult. They make a lot of money.”

“That’s the entrepreneurial spirit,” Carol says, scruffing her brother’s hair. “I’m gonna catch the bus, I’ll see you after school, Mom?”

Her mother nods and Carol slurps down some coffee for the sake of caffeine, then hits the bus stop. She is wary of Johnny and his friends seeking revenge, but early in the morning is probably not the time for it. Too many people about.

She sits in the back of the bus, trying to remember the attitude she is supposed to have. She uses a pen to carve “Danvers is a Manvers” into the vinyl seatback, but it feels hollow. She sneers at some punk boy further up the aisle who is making eyes at her, and flips him off when he doesn’t get the hint.

They roll into school and Carol immediately sees Hank’s shaggy head getting off another bus. She pushes her way forward and jogs to catch up with him.

He turns and looks directly at her before she’s gotten anywhere near him and she waves. Dude can definitely hear better than regular people.

“Kinda creepy how you do that,” she says quietly as she gets up next to him. They walk together into the school.

“And a good morning to you, too,” he says, “Did you finish your part of the project last night?”

“Was I supposed to?” Shit, did I forget? Her newfound priorities and confidence are about to shatter.

But Hank’s mouth turns up into a sly grin. “I have not even begun, don’t worry.”

“Shit, Hank, I’ve had a rough couple days. Maybe read the lady vibes next time.”

He shrugs. “My apologies, then. I suppose you have something for me at any rate?”

They thread their way through the throng of students and teachers and pull into a blind corner that used to have a glass cabinet nestled inside. Used to in the sense that someone broke the glass and the cabinet has been removed for repairs. It is a favorite spot to sell pot and makeout, because for some reason the teachers are willfully ignoring it in favor of the bathrooms and unused classrooms.

She digs into her bag, shuffling books and papers, and hands him the windbreaker jacket and mask, which he stuffs into his bag while looking out for teachers or for nosy students.

“Thank you for bringing them to me, Carol. Did you have any more trouble after we split up?”

She snorts laughter. “Not from those goons.”

“I’m sure they will be looking for a second chance. I’ll try to keep an ear out for them, okay?”

She rolls her neck and stretches her back again. The shower helped, but it all still aches. “Okay, yeah,” she says. “I don’t want you to go thinking you need to come to my rescue every time I do something stupid and get my shit kicked in.”

“I can let it happen next time,” he offers, but she knows better. Hank’s a hero, a vigilante with a heart of gold. A nerd with a clean streak.

They agree to meet up Saturday afternoon, after her internship, to work on the research project some more. She leaves him to go to home room, but it feels empty without Jessica there to take the edge off. She sits down, then remembers the note she wants to throw away here at school.

She digs around in her bag, coming up empty and starting to freak, until she realizes it must have gotten mixed up with Hank’s clothes. Hank is gonna know something is wrong with Jessica. That’s not her secret to share!

But Hank is a good guy. He knows the value of secrets kept that way. A mutant has more reason than most to keep his nose out of other people’s business.

It’ll be okay, probably. Right?

 

Lunch without Jessica is equally sad. Carol wanders through her day in a daze of tiredness and worry, but it is nowhere near as bad as the day before. Classes end and she finds Maria and the other Flight geeks in the spare classroom, arguing about some spec on some fighter jet.

“What’s up, flyboys and girls?” she announces as she comes in. The group finishes the “Us, Someday” mantra, and she responds “Someday Us.”

She sits down among the group as their argument kicks back in, antsy to talk to Maria about her internship. The group is composed of two sides: Norman and a couple guys saying the F-20 Tigershark was going to blow the rest of the fighters out of the water once the Air Force invested in them, and Maria and one other boy saying that nothing is going to unseat the F-15E Strike Eagle, least of all the Tigershark.

For Carol’s part, she enjoys the look of the Tigershark, but it hasn’t gained any real traction and she doesn’t believe it can unseat anything. But neither does she think the Strike Eagle will be a lasting commodity, now that she’s seen some bigger, better jets.

Maria interrupts the argument with, “Carol, pick a side.” She makes a face and funny voice when she says, “Tigershark,” and then goes for a sexy, sultry voice when she says, “Or Strike Eagle.”

Carol looks at the group, and she remembers why she hangs out with these dorks. Norman and the other guys may be a little nerdy, but at least they aren’t afraid of her or treat her with scorn.

She says, “Tigershark, more like manatee.”

Norman scoffs. “Of course you’re siding with Rambeau.”

“Oh, I’m not,” Carol corrects him, “I think there’ll be some cool shit opened to the public in a year or two that the Strike Eagle can’t even contend with.”

Maria gives a little half grin. “Maybe I’ll side with my flygirl. She’s got something to tell you all, anyway.”

Carol stiffens. She wasn’t expecting to be put on the spot like this, but Maria is enacting her own little bit of jealousy, and that’s okay.

“Yeah, uh, I’ve met Howard Stark.”

“Met, hell, you’re interning with him!” Maria yells over her, and the group has a thousand questions, most of which she can’t answer.

She gives an altered version of the story she told to Maria, and shows them the Air Force Personnel mockup sheet with her callsign on it. They laugh and ask questions and start coming up with food callsigns for themselves. Carol pulls Maria aside after the fervor dies down.

“You probably noticed I changed my story a little bit with them,” she says.

Maria nods. “I figured you’re playing the truth close to the ground. But damn, did you really get to do a G Machine?”

She nods. “I didn’t tell them the whole story, either. It wasn’t just ‘cause I threw up my cheeseburger, it’s because the G force splattered it back in my face immediately.”

Maria giggles. “Maybe I don’t want a food callsign after all. Nacho, Pizza, and Chicken Nugget over there got all the good ones anyway.”

They’ve only got a few minutes left before the teachers go around kicking stragglers out, and Carol is tired of talking about herself.

She says, “What got the argument started about the Strike Eagle?”

Maria scoffs and glares at Norman. “Flyboy thinks he’s expert on anything with wings just ‘cause he watched a documentary about the Air Force. It’s fine, he’ll learn his place.”

“Which is?”

“Somewhere under me, you flies can sort it out.”

Carol laughs. “Did you hear back from the Air Force ROTC yet?”

Maria’s mood sours. “Not yet. It’s a long shot, anyway, ‘til I’m old enough and have done anything at all that impresses them.” Carol feels bad about that, but doesn’t really know how to help.

Carol claps her on the back. “I’m sure it’ll happen. You’re too much of a stubborn mule not to get your way sooner or later.”

“Not like you, sneaking around and falling into an internship I might literally kill for.”

“It’s interesting, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous about going back today. Cheeseburger reporting for duty.”

“Captain Pancake and Lieutenant Mac ‘N’ Cheese will be watching you close.”

They both laugh at the poor joke as a teacher hustles them out of the room. It might be nice to make this an official club, but they need a teacher to sponsor it and hold official meetings. And they’d no doubt have to pay something, which doesn’t seem fair.

“My mom’s picking me up for the internship,” Carol says as they walk out of the building, Norman and the other boys trailing behind. “Be nice when I can drive myself.”

Maria grins. “I could drive you, if you want.”

“Maybe next time. They have to approve everyone who shows up at the gates.”

“So secret,” she jokes, but Carol can see her suddenly hunched shoulders. “Do you even have your learner’s permit yet?”

“Of course,” Carol answers. She does, but her father hasn’t let her do much driving. “I’ll probably get my pilot’s license before my driver’s license.”

Maria snorts laughter and affects an old granny voice. “I flew in World War III but still need Jessica to drive me to the pharmacy.” She stops short and pulls Carol to the side just short of leaving the building.

“Speaking of Jess, I noticed she was out of class today, and I heard a rumor she was sick. Like actual sick. It’s bullshit, right?”

Oh no. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Someone said they found out she was in the hospital.”

What did that note say? Did she sign it with her name?

“I take it from the wild look in your eyes that I’m not far off?”

Carol nods. “No one is supposed to know. I’m going to kill that fucker.”

“Who? What’s up with her?”

Carol’s mother honks at her through the glass doors, and they both jump at the unexpected noise.

“Don’t worry about it. She’ll be fine. If you hear anyone talking about it, tell them it’s just a dumb rumor. It’s not my place to say more.”

Maria nods and clasps a hand firmly on Carol’s shoulder. “I got you, flygirl. Don’t sweat it.”

She thanks Maria and goes out the doors, hopping into the car and trying not to hyperventilate. The last thing she needs is to admit to her best friend that she fucked everything up _again_.

“How was class today?” her mother asks, and Carol answers with a mumble that must be a trademark teenager thing to do. “At least you said something.”

As they are pulling away from the school, Carol spots Johnny and his friends hanging out by his Jeep. They are watching her, she realizes. They were waiting for her. Johnny’s got a black eye and he limps as he goes to hop in the Jeep. His friends look about the same. They pull in behind Carol’s car and follow practically on the bumper.

“Can I drive home tonight?” she asks suddenly. Anything to get her mind off how badly she has messed up and to keep her mother from noticing they are being followed.

“Tonight? You know your father and I don’t like you driving at night.”

“I gotta learn sometime.” They turn at the street light, and the boys in the Jeep turn the other direction, but Carol sees Johnny in the mirror. That isn’t over, not by a long shot.

“I’ll talk to your father about it. He’s picking you up, anyway.” Carol settles in for the drive out to the SHIELD facility. “Talking to your father” usually means no.

“Mom?” Carol asks.

“I said we’ll see, honey.”

“Not that. Um… what do you do when you realize you’ve screwed up with a person, like in a big way?”

Her mother glances over quickly, face surprised and then inscrutable. “You haven’t asked me for advice since you put on that jacket.”

I haven’t had a reason to, she almost says. “I’m asking now. I think I really messed up.”

“Who is it? Is it… a boy? You’re acting like it’s a boy.” She smiles suddenly. “It’s not that lovely boy Anthony Stark, is it?”

“It’s not. I’m not interested in boys right now, Mom.” How much to share? How much did she _want_ to share? “I said some hurtful things and now the other kids know something they’re not supposed to.”

“It’s about Jessica, then.” Carol retreats into herself; it is not her place to say anything, even to her parents, about whatever’s wrong with Jessica.

“Well, let me guess since you’re shutting down on me,” her mother says. The afternoon traffic disappears as they exit the highway and head for the service road into the facility. “You found out that Jessica is sick, and somehow blabbed it to people at school.”

Carol’s eyes widen. “How the fu--”

“Language, Carol.”

“Sorry. Sorry.” She gets mad. “No, I’m not sorry. How did you know that? Are you spying on me?”

Her mother sighs. “Do you think your friend, who spends more time with you than anyone, would have an illness that we, as your parents, didn’t know about?”

Carol’s whole world is tumbling. Her parents knew? “Why?” she manages to ask.

“If something happened, and she had a spell, her parents wanted to make sure the adults knew to call them or take her to the hospital. I’ve nearly forgotten about it over the years because she always seemed fine.”

“What is it? What’s wrong with her?” Carol asks. She feels silly for not knowing the specifics. She feels worse because Jessica doesn’t trust her enough for this, and rightly so it turns out. Less than a day and the whole school is gonna be fabricating cancer and polio and AIDS.

“Her parents were nonspecific,” her mother says. They pull up to the security gate, where Private Longmire waves at Carol. She doesn’t get out, waiting for her mother to explain.

“All we really know is that it doesn’t go away, and she has fits of fatigue. She receives treatments, kind of like chemotherapy, to manage the symptoms. She’s not contagious, and it shouldn’t have any effect on your friendship, unless you’ve messed up by telling the whole school.”

“It was an accident,” Carol mutters, opening the door. She needs to be away from her mother, from all the problems she’s caused.

“Make it up to her, then. Be better.”

Carol closes the car door, waving her mother off, and walks up to Private Longmire.

He says, “You look like you’ve had a bad day.”

She shrugs as she fills out the sign-in sheet and puts on her “Stark Aviation Intern” badge.

“Want some advice?”

“Everyone’s got help today, apparently,” she says, sighing. Her mother drives away as Carol is walking through the gate. Stupid woman.

“Suit yourself, Intern.”

She stops, berating herself. “No, wait, I’m being a bitch. What’s your advice?”

He smiles. “Well, first is to be easier on yourself. You only know what’s going on in your head, but just imagine everyone else has the same amount in theirs. You can afford to be nice to yourself.”

“Thanks, Mr. Rogers.”

“Second is that the attitude isn’t going to carry you far once you’re out of high school.”

“That’s why I’m here, Longmire. My attitude got me in the door.”

He shrugs at her now. “Maybe. Hope you’ve got more than snark and a mohawk to show off, today.”

She gives him some trademark snark and flicks her mohawk with a finger. Worthless advice.

Still.

“Thanks. For at least trying,” she says.

He nods in acknowledgement. “Your ride is pulling up now.”

She turns to find Howard Stark driving up on a golf cart, of all things. His signature panache and enthusiasm are in full force even on something as silly as a golf cart, and he waves her over with a big grin.

A flash of panic and then relief jolts through her. Howard got her into this whole crazy mess, maybe he can give her some proper advice.

He says, “There’s my favorite intern. Hop on, we’ve got a big day ahead of us!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a while since we checked in with Howard Stark, figured it was time to let them interact again. Next chapter will have Howard, and maybe Peggy, and some shenanigans at the SHIELD facility.


	9. Skipping Stones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol interacts with people at the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility while Howard is taking her around to watch jet launches and other fun things, while attempting to talk to Howard about her problems with prioritizing her life.

Carol holds her bag as she takes the seat next to Howard. He looks natural on the cart in his khaki trousers and a blue polo, like he is just picking up his wayward caddy before they hit the links. He grins and hammers the gas, turning sharply as he does so. For a sickening moment she is sure the cart is going to flip as the passenger-side wheels lift off the ground momentarily, but then the cart evens out and they drive off, wind whipping past their bodies.

“Whoops!” Howard yells. “Sorry, this thing isn’t exactly my usual car.”

“I can see the headlines now, Mr. Stark, ‘Billionaire dies in ill-advised golf cart stunt’.”

Howard laughs. “When it’s just us, call me Howard. Too stuffy otherwise. As for the way I die, I can only hope it’s something as good as that. Can you imagine me getting ‘He died peacefully in his sleep, surrounded by his loved ones who were not at all eagerly waiting for their inheritance’?”

She can’t, actually, but she says, “So you’d rather go out doing something dumb and dangerous?”

“‘Dumb and dangerous’ is just another way of saying ‘fun’ in my book.”

She chuckles politely at his joke as they ride through the streets of the the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility. Everywhere she looks there are buildings and hangars, jets warming up, cars moving about, mechanics working on planes and other machinery. In the distance, a bunch of lab techs in white coats standing behind a blast shield watching something in the distance. All about her are people living their lives, doing amazing things. And all she can do is sit here worrying about her problems when she should be doing the same thing.

“Mr.--Howard,” she starts, but before she can say anything else, Howard pulls to a severe stop, thrusting them both forward.

He declares, “We’re here!” and it appears to be Test Dock 03, where she initially had snuck in and started all this mess.

He hops off the cart and jogs over to speak to the guard on duty at the entrance to the building. Carol doesn’t recognize the woman, but then, she’s only met a few guards so far and none of them but Longmire seem to care for her presence. 

Carol shoulders her bag and steps off the golf cart as Howard waves her toward the guard and the doors she protects.

Howard says, “They’re inbetween tests, so we can go in.”

“What tests?” Carol asks.

“More fun to show you,” he answers as the guard opens the door for the two of them. He escorts her in and Carol thanks the guard as they pass, getting only a curt nod in return.

As the door closes behind them, Carol whispers, “People hate me around here.”

“It’s a military facility, more or less,” Howard says, “no one gets to be liked.” H leads her down a corridor and up a flight of stairs, down another long hallway and ultimately into a control room of sorts. It overlooks the experimental jet she snuck onto what feels like forever ago but was less than a week, with wide panes of glass and monitors above that have all kinds of digital readouts about every aspect of the jet.

There is a low, intermittent hum from the hangar below, and Carol can see the large jet’s thrusters swivel around as whoever is in control manipulates them.

In the control room are several people beyond Howard and Carol: one of the new pilots Carol met last time, who waves at Carol when he sees her, mimicking a bite out of a cheeseburger; a black female scientist in a lab coat reviewing charts and graphs on a couple of monitors; Agent Carter standing in a corner conferring with a tall black man just starting to lose his hair. Agent Carter is wearing a dark blue pantsuit and the man is in a black trenchcoat with a S.H.I.E.L.D. insignia on his lapel. He glances at Carol briefly before going back to his conversation with Agent Carter. That glance holds judgment of a questionable military decision and Carol is afraid suddenly to meet this man.

Agent Carter barely spares her a single look of recognition as Howard walks Carol up to the scientist.

“How did the last test go?” he asks the woman, who appears flustered that Howard Stark is talking to her.

“Oh, well, Mr. Stark, sir, there’s a lot of data to comb through--”

“Just ballpark it, I’m trying to impress the kid over here.” He grins and nudges Carol.

The scientist clears her throat and nods at Carol dismissively. “Yes, well, we’re getting c-closer to the takeoff ratios, and, um, landing is fine so long as there’s, you know, fuel to fire the thrusters. And once it’s in the air, it takes too long to get moving, and too much fuel. We’re still hitting a wall, to so speak. So to speak.” Her cheeks flush and she turns away. Howard only grins at her.

He looks back at Carol and whispers, “Give me just a minute with the good Doctor here, Danvers. She just needs a kind word. Looks like Peg’s done talking to our guest, why don’t you go say hello?”

Howard pushes her off as the tall black man leaves the room, expression on his face satisfied. Howard starts to shmooze the scientist and Carol is left to go talk to one of her least favorite people, Agent Carter.

Carol stops in front of Peggy and says, “Hope I’m not interrupting. Howard told me to say hello while he does his Howard Stark thing.”

Agent Carter eyes Howard, putting the scientist woman at ease. “He has such a way with people, don’t you agree?”

“Tony says it’s all just manipulation.” Not strictly true, but close enough.

Peggy smiles. “He would think that. There’s a fair amount of it, to be sure. But mostly, Howard’s trick is just making every person he meets feel like the most important person in the world for the few minutes they have his attention.” Carol tries not to blush at the insinuation.

“Who was the suit?” Carol asks.

“No one you need worry over, and the less he knows about you, the better. We’re already skirting some uncomfortable laws. Or uncomfortably close to laws. He’s a director of a different S.H.I.E.L.D. facility down south. Director Fury is just visiting to see the new tech Stark is whipping up, and he was most impressed with our baby down there.”

“Directory Fury, huh? Sounds made up.”

Peggy smiles. “It does, doesn’t it? The man is a legend in the field. Recruiting him was the best decision we’ve ever made.”

“So far,” Carol says, pretending at arrogance.

“Indeed.” Peggy watches Howard deal with the scientist. “You’ve been here a couple times now, are you getting your bearings?”

Carol shakes her head. “You’re the only person so far who’s asked me that.”

“You’re not going to ruin that mascara or something, are you?” she asks, and Carol hates her for it just as much as she wants to thank her.

“No, ma’am. And yes, I think so. About bearings. It’s like whiplash a little bit the way things have gone so far.”

“Good. I hate it when Howard is right, so you can imagine how often I hate things.”

“Can I--” Carol hesitates. “Uhhh… Can I ask for some advice?”

Peggy eyes her a moment and Carol feels particularly seen, as if all her innermost thoughts are exposed. Agent Carter waves ascent, folds her arms, and waits.

How to ask? Carol leans up against a large machine that may just be a computer, folding her arms in accidental mirror to Agent Carter, then unfolds them. She asks, “How do you manage it all? Your career, your family, all of it. How did you manage when you were younger?”

Peggy sighs. “Those are two very different questions, and I’m afraid you’ll dislike the second answer. It boils down to your priorities. What can you accomplish in the time you are given, and what must you sacrifice to make it all happen?”

“You mean, like, friends?”

Peggy says, “You have regular school, and this bizarre internship, and I’m sure loads of homework, and draws on your time from family, from friends, from other school activities. We do not exactly pay you, so in another few months you may be juggling it all and a part time job. And you haven’t even started dating yet!”

Carol covers her face with a hand to hide the red cheeks. “Well, I’m not exactly interested in that part yet.”

“I want you to understand, I’m not attempting to dissuade you,” Peggy continues, “but it’s important to know what you can handle and how much of it before the cliff collapses under your feet.”

Howard comes over in the middle of this and claps Peggy on the back jovially. “Are you trying to scare our intern?”

“The more relevant question is why aren’t you?” she shoots back.

Carol says, “I know what I’m in for. Thank you, Agent Carter.”

Peggy nods approvingly and Carol’s stomach flutters a little bit. Having her approval shouldn’t make her feel this way, and yet it does. 

Howard pulls Carol to the side, saying, “Hey, sit with Weaver over here and watch the test footage. I’m gonna talk to Peg about a thing.”

Carol knows that vagueness means it’s about her, but she’s excited to see the big jet in action, so she doesn’t argue, just nods.

Weaver is Doctor Anne Weaver, the scientist that Howard was talking to a few minutes ago. Carol offers her hand and shakes firmly. Doctor Weaver, having calmed down from her flustered state, regards Carol with what is starting to become a kind of trademark dismissal.

She says, “Mr. Stark is a great man, and you should be thankful he’s showing this kindness. Not everyone gets to just tag along and see amazing things.”

“I’m not here to just tag along, Doctor Weaver. I’m here to learn and hopefully someday fly.”

Weaver sniffs and turns to the monitors. “Yes, well, let’s watch the footage, shall we?”

Carol kind of hates this lady. She’s only in her 20s, or maybe early 30s, but her bearing with Carol is haughty and maybe jealous? Hopefully she doesn’t have to do much with Weaver in the future.

On the monitor, the jet’s wings fold out as it clears the hangar bay, and its thrusters fire up, giving it lift and forward momentum. Having overheard the previous conversation, Carol can see what she means by it seeming too slow. But seeing it in action… shivers run down her spine. It seems like truly alien technology, something out of a Ridley Scott film.

“That was pretty cool,” she admits, and Weaver lets out a grin from her stony facade. 

“It’s not quite right, but yeah, it is pretty cool to see it launch without a runway.”

“How long until these enter active service?” Carol asks.

Weaver sighs. “It could be weeks, it could be years. Depends on funding and if we can solve the problems it has first.”

“Like it not moving fast enough?”

“That, and it requires so much fuel just to takeoff and land, it’s so expensive and flight times are limited as a result.”

“Like New York to Detroit limited?”

This causes genuine laughter from Weaver. “More like New York to Philly.”

“Is that the worst thing, though? You can have them stationed all over once they’re in active service.”

“A craft like this isn’t going to be active service like you think. You’ll never see it flying missions for the Air Force.”

That deflates Carol a bit. “Why not?”

“Probably above your paygrade of ‘not supposed to be here’ but basically it is filled with tech that the public doesn’t get to know about.”

“The military has all kinds of stuff we don’t know about.” Carol lets the barb go. 

Weaver is about to go on, but Howard comes back and Peggy appears to have left the room as well. “So are we ready to do another test, Doctor?”

“Nearly, Mr. Stark. Your suggestions for the folding mechanisms on the wings are being adjusted right now, they’ll signal when it’s ready.”

He rubs his hands together. “Excellent. Nothing gets the blood pumping like watching unverified changes go live.”

“Unverified?” Carol asks.

Weaver interrupts, “Looks like they’re ready now, Mr. Stark. Liftoff will be in one minute.”

Howard pulls Carol over to the view window, where the pilot is leaning. He says, “What’s shaking, Cheeseburger?” as they look out the window, and Carol laughs uncomfortably.

“Just watching my ride take off,” she answers. Howard laughs and the pilot grins. 

“This is 100% my ride. Once it’s out of testing, I’m gonna do so many corkscrews in this thing.”

Howard says, “You probably shouldn’t brag about stunts in front of the creator.”

“Because you’ll just give him more ideas?” Carol jokes, and they all three laugh a bit.

Howard says, “Precisely. Now, Carol, you see how the wings fold up and out? This is going to let us have landing pads much smaller than a traditional jet, more akin to a helicopter.”

“Pretty cool,” Carol says, partly because she knows this is what Howard wants, and also because it really is freaking neat. “How long before I get to ride in one?”

“I’m not about to try and explain to your parents that you were in a beta aircraft if anything goes wrong. Ask me in a couple years.”

“In a couple years I plan to be flying,” Carol shoots back, and Howard shrugs. 

The experimental jet lifts off the ground, thrusters working at maximum, and it passes their view window, causing the glass to rattle and the metal to vibrate all around them. Carol can almost feel the heat from its exhaust, and then it rises up, above, out of a hatch in the building’s roof. The wings unfold delicately, like a bat waking from a nap to stretch. The jet lurches forward as the wings lock into flight position, and then it is gone from sight.

“Where’s it going?” Carol asks, settling back and letting the shivers run through her.

She turns to see Howard reading the monitors next to Dr. Weaver. Carol didn’t realize he had moved away, but he is a scientist first, it seems. 

The pilot, she isn’t sure she caught his name before, says, “It’ll make a few circuits around the base and then come back in for a landing. It’s not as exciting as liftoff, but still pretty cool.”

“It’s all cool in my book. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name last time?”

“Airman First Class Reilly Jones.” He offers her a hand and she shakes it, firm, like the other people she’s met so far in this facility.

“And your call sign?”

“Not as good as yours,” he says, grinning, “but Tank.”

She hesitates. “... Because you’re tough and can get through anything?”

“Because I’m always full of shit.”

She laughs. Thank God someone has a worse call sign, she thinks. “Well, Reilly ‘Tank’ Jones, thanks for not treating me like I don’t belong. I keep expecting high school and getting… something else.”

“People who have things to do don’t have time for that petty nonsense. We’ll laugh at stuff, sure, but you’re here for a reason and there’s no point in making your time here harder.”

Reilly Jones, you’re too pure for this world, she thinks. She says, “Well, I’m glad someone has some sense around here.”

Howard calls Carol over, and she mock salutes Reilly as she leaves his side. “Are we not watching the landing?”

“If we do, you’ll be late for the next part of the tour, and you don’t want to miss this one.”

“What is it?” She hasn’t forgotten she wants to talk to Howard about all of this, get his advice, but maybe on the ride over she can pick his brain.

“Let’s just say your unfortunate first experience with a G Machine has inspired me.” He leads her away under this mysterious pretense, and Carol waves goodbye to Reilly Jones and Dr. Weaver. She has been overwhelmed with positivity and good experiences since getting onto base today, and she forgets for a while that she’s supposed to be angry and combative at the world.

Howard leads her back down to the golf cart, and they haul out for some other building somewhere on the massive campus. 

“Howard?”

“I’m not telling you, it’s a secret.”

“It’s not that, can I ask you something? About all this?”

A walkie talkie goes off from the console of the golf cart. Carol hadn’t even noticed it, and it startles her into a little jump. Howard says, “Hold that thought, Danvers.”

He picks up the walkie and starts a conversation with a woman, probably his secretary, and Carol realizes in short order that their day of fun and excitement is over.

He finishes, “Yeah, Janet, I hear you. Deal is off if I don’t get over there and make nice. I’m on my way.” He puts the walkie down and then picks it back up immediately. “And Janet? Send someone to the skills lab to pick up our intern.”

Janet says okay and the conversation lulls for a moment as Howard drives, less recklessly than before.

“So I take it we’re done for the day?” Carol asks finally.

“Seems so, Carol. I was gonna put you in the simulator and let you fly some fake missions. Puts Top Gun on Nintendo to shame.”

“Sounds fun. About my questions--”

“We’re here, and I’m sorry, Danvers, you’ll have to ask me later. I’m sure someone will be along shortly. Up you go.”

She gets off the golf cart and Howard hands her bag over. “The life of a billionaire is often dull, but never still. Until next time!” he yells over his shoulder as he drives away.

An emptiness takes residence in Carol’s body. She stands there clutching her school bag, feeling nine years old and lost in a desert of concrete and steel. She tries her badge on the door to the skills lab, but apparently her badge doesn’t even register for the security system. 

So she sits down, bag at her feet, against the outer wall next to the door. She has an hour left on her internship for the day, but she has no idea where this building is compared to the front gate, and she would probably get picked up for wandering, anyway.

She thinks back to the conversations she’s had today, with Maria, and Longmire, and Tank Jones, and Agent Carter. They each had words of wisdom, but none of them really feel right. The person she really thought was going to have something useful for her just bailed on her. 

Howard Stark got her into this, but he is proving to be rather aloof and unhelpful. Even his son has been more use, and Tony makes a point of not being useful.

A black sedan pulls up and honks. She can’t see who is behind the wheel because of the tinted windows and the sun on its way down. She has seen a few of these roaming around the base, and they are all identical. It could be Stark’s assistant as easily as that Director Fury.

But the window rolls down on the passenger side as Carol is getting to her feet, and it’s Melinda May. Tank Jones is behind the wheel.

May calls, “Get in, Cheeseburger! The tour continues.”

Carol is surprised at how glad she is to see them. She suppresses a smile and hops in the empty back seat. “Goose, did you two really have nothing better to do?”

“When the bosses yell ‘jump’, we put on jetpacks,” Tank says. 

“... Do you actually have jetpacks?” Carol asks.

May snorts in response. Carol fights a flush of embarrassment. “So what new hazing ritual are you putting me through today?”

Tank says, “Stark’s assistant said you were supposed to be doing the simulator, but it’s really not all it’s cracked up to be. Just a chair that jostles you around while a video plays. May thought you might enjoy something a little more visceral.”

Visceral? “You’re not gonna kill me and dump my body in a field somewhere, are you?”

May says, “Don’t ruin the surprise, Tank.”

It doesn’t make her feel better about it all, but Carol settles back into the seat and waits. They drive for a couple of minutes, and Carol starts to feel like she really is being hazed, just wasting her time, when they pull up on a row of F-15E Strike Eagles.

One of which has been pulled to a nearby runway and is being prepped for launch.

“What are we--” Carol starts and May interrupts, “Time for the real thing. You want to do a ride-along?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be one more chapter in "Prelude to Takeoff" after this, that sort of culminates the journey thus far. I have additional plans for Carol, her internship, and her motley assortment of friends, which will go on as usual as a separate story, tied to a greater Series. Thanks to everyone who's stuck around thus far, there is definitely more to come!


	10. Takeoff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol Danvers, before she is Captain Marvel, is going to fly. Later, she finally gets to talk to her best friend Jessica about the things hanging over their heads.

Carol is stunned to silence before she squeaks out, “Are you messing with me? If you are, that’s cool and all, but don’t you dare dangle this in front of me and then take it away.”

“Not messing with you, Danvers,” Reilly says. “We, uh, we know how disappointing meetings with Stark can be. He’s never on the level you’re engaging with him. We thought this might make the day worth remembering.”

“Yadda yadda feelings, let’s get you suited up,” May says, and Carol grins as they hop out of the car. “Now listen, officially you’re Tank while you’re up there. You’re riding WSO*  and the controls are disabled, not to mention the weapons aren’t hot anyway. I’m flying and you’re just gonna enjoy the ride-along. You ever tell anyone about this--”

“You’ll really leave my body in a field, I got it. Why would I squeal?” Carol grabs the flight suit from May’s outstretched hand. This one is slightly too small for Carol, but she doesn’t care as she pulls it on over her clothes, leather jacket tossed into the backseat of the sedan. Tank hands her a water bottle and she pours it over her hair to soften the spikes and shoves a helmet on. This is happening. They’re not just messing with her. She’s about to fly in a real fighter jet.

It’s so much taller than she expects, standing over three times her height at the tip of its tailfin. May has climbed into the pilot seat and is initiating checks. Tank pulls Carol to the side while the engine noise continues to grow louder.

“You sure you can handle this?” he yells. “We can stop right now if you change your mind!”

“Are you fucking kidding me? The General of the Air Force could be standing here right now and I’d still say hell yeah!” 

“Do us all a favor and don’t touch anything in there!” he says, and turns Carol to the steel stairs. “Have fun, Cheeseburger!”

Carol nods. It is happening. 

She takes a deep breath and practically floats up the railing of the mobile stairs. Once she is up top, she experiences a mild case of vertigo that clears up instantly. May smiles underneath her helmet and gestures to the seat behind her.

She hops into the weapon systems seat, surprised at how cramped it is despite her own smaller form. Years of research and books and documentaries guide her as she figures out the harness and straps in. Connects her helmet to the comms. Listens as May performs pre-flight checks and gets radio okays from the flight tower.

Reilly drives the sedan a ways away and sits on the roof of the car, watching. The hatch seals shut above them, and Carol’s nervous excitement bubbles up. She can’t touch anything, she can’t say anything, but this is the best moment of her entire life. May finishes the checks, and then the jet is moving. It positions itself on the runway a little bit better, and after a few moments of the engines cycling up, she hears the all clear from the tower.

And her stomach is somewhere behind her as the jet rips forward, faster than any commercial jet she’s been in. It rockets down the runway, lifting as it gains speed, until it clears the ground and shoots up into the air, a hundred feet, two hundred, a thousand. She doesn’t know how many G’s of force are being applied, but it’s not as bad as the G Machine, and once they’re in the air and circling the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility, everything smooths out.

She is in a fighter jet. She’s doing what she’s dreamed of for years, and that sense of freedom, that joy, that excitement, all crashes down on her in an instant.

All of the worry, and exhaustion, and regret, and drama: it all washes away. It cannot exist simultaneously inside her while she is flying. The feeling of absolute contentment, of being where she is supposed to be, of fulfilling her destiny, overwhelms her. 

Tears stream down her face and they are tears of joy. She can’t help it. Her emotions overtake her and she is laughing and crying at the same time. She can never thank May and Tank for this. Not properly. Not ever. And no one, not even Maria, could possibly understand the catharsis she feels. All of her posturing, all of her punk attitude, it seems unimportant now. Childish.

May lazily loops around the base, communicating with the tower and performing maneuvers for this test flight. Nothing fancy, just banks left and right, raising and lowering elevation. After all the maneuvers are done, and she is cleared to bring it in for a landing, she stands by and kills the tower comms.

“You all right back there, Danvers?” she asks.

“Perfect,” she responds. “This is perfect.” Her voice is hoarse from crying and laughing, and she lifts her visor to wipe away the tears and snot. 

May gives her a thumbs up from the cockpit and asks, “You feeling like an advanced maneuver?”

“Does a Stark wipe his ass with $100 bills?”

“I don’t think so? But get ready.”

“Are you allowed to go off-script?”

“Perks of being a pilot in a secret branch of the military,” she says, and before Carol can respond, the jet turns up at a steep angle, pushing her back into her seat harder than anything so far, and they are almost vertical for a split-second before May corkscrews the plane, taking them upside down for the briefest of moments before rolling into a level flight again. Heading back the way they had just flown from. Carol loves every terrifying second of it.

“Immelmann Turn! Hell yeah!” she shouts. “Can we do it again?” The butterflies in her stomach are dancing a mad jig and she wants to make them flutter harder, faster.

May laughs. “Sorry, Cheeseburger, I gotta bring her around and down.”

She flips the tower comms back on, reports “partial interruption of communication”, and brings the jet down to a smooth landing. Tank drives back up and pushes the stairs into the side of the jet while the cockpit unseals and opens.

Carol is so giddy she trips and almost falls down the steps after hopping out, but May catches her flight suit in her grip before she can tumble ass-over-teakettle, and she rights herself, thanking May as she skips down the steps. She pulls off her helmet, shaking out her still-damp hair, while Tank stands by.

“Hate to break up the joy fest,” he says, “but you should really change out of the flight suit before you get us all caught.” Despite his words, Tank is hiding a grin. Carol nods and hops into the back seat of the sedan, stripping the flight suit and putting her jacket back on. Tank and May are whispering to each other when she steps back out, her hair flopping to the side. For the first not-exhausted time in a long time, she doesn’t feel the urge to put it back up. It isn’t as important as it was an hour ago. 

“I don’t know how to thank you, but fuckin’ thanks,” she says as she stops in front of the pair. 

“Not a word to anyone, ever, right?” Tank says, and May nods.

“As far as anyone is concerned, Cheeseburger is just what I had for lunch one day,” Carol agrees. “Though I did show my Flight Club my mock Air Force papers.”

“Of course you did,” Tank says, sighing. “I wish I’d had a Flight Club coming up.”

May nods. “All we had was track and field.”

They pile back into the sedan and take Carol to the front gates, as her internship time is almost over for the day.

“You know, you set the bar way too high,” Carol says before she opens her door to get out. “Next time you’ll just have to put me in the pilot’s seat.”

May says, “There isn’t going to be a next time. It’s risky doing it once.”

Carol suspected that would be the case, but hearing it out loud is a little deflating. “At any rate, seriously, you two did an awesome thing for me today. Whatever happens going forward, I’ve got your six, Goose and Tank.”

They nod, trying not to laugh at her archaic flight language, but Carol doesn’t care. “You guys gonna be around on Saturday? I’m supposed to have a whole day out here doing God-knows-what.”

“We, uh, might have our first mission on Saturday,” Tank says, and May nudges him with an elbow. “Sorry.”

“Exciting. Will you tell me about it later, if you can?”

May shrugs. “If we can. Looks like your ride is waiting.”

Carol glances over beyond the gate to see her father talking to the guard. It isn’t Longmire this time, and she looks nonplussed to be dealing with a cranky chauvinist civilian.

“I better get out there. At the risk of being a broken record, thanks.”

They nod at her as she gets out, and she jogs over to the gate. Not even seeing her dad could sour her mood right now. 

She signs out and whispers an apology to the private, “Sorry if he said anything shitty. He’s the bad kind of old-fashioned.”

The private waves her hand. “I’ve been dealing with it since I was old enough to throw a punch. And it looks like you’re wise to his nonsense, so it’s whatever.”

Carol waves and starts for the passenger door, but her father tosses the keys at her.

Carol is stunned for a moment until she remembers she asked her mom if she could drive home. That seemed an eternity ago.

“You’re letting me drive?” she asks, disbelieving.

“Your mother said I should probably let you, and I’ve had a couple beers, so.” So it wasn’t because he thought she was ready.

Of course. Even this doesn’t sour her mood. She throws her bag into the backseat and hops into the driver’s seat. 

“Takeoff!” she whispers to herself as her father gets in.

 

***** Epilogue *****

 

An hour ago, in his private car, Howard Stark talks on his carphone while his driver takes him off the S.H.I.E.L.D. base and out into the civilian world. He misses being a businessman first, but there’s never a moment of peace in either life.

“Yeah, Peg, if you’re sure that’s what you want to do,” he says. “It’s unorthodox, even for you, but if you think she can handle the cockpit, make it happen. I feel bad about ditching her, but we need this contract for the Quinjet program. Yes, it’s a risk, but I’m pretty sure we can get the parts we need.”

He listens for a moment and laughs. “Give my best to the family. I’ll see you in a couple days.”

He hangs up after Peggy says goodbye, and sighs. He expected Peggy to be dragged kicking and screaming into this fake internship thing, but she’s taking it from him and running with it. Maybe that’s for the better. As busy as Peggy is, it is still not as much as Howard continues to deal with on a daily basis.

What he really wants to do is finish the experimental jet, dubbed the Quinjet. Just one more legacy he can leave behind for the likes of Carol Danvers, and Melinda “Goose” May, and his son Tony.

 

*****

 

It takes some convincing, both on her parents and on Carol’s, but Jessica uses catch-up on homework and classwork to persuade them. Carol is on her way over to spend the night, on a school night. Jessica feels weak from the treatments, like her body is in cooldown mode and can’t warm up, but knowing her best friend is on the way helps. The note Carol left her at the hospital this morning was equal parts sweet, sassy, and frustrating, just like her friend, and Jessica cherishes it.

Her mother insists on Jessica staying abed, and she prepares the sleeping pallet for Carol, on the carpet next to Jessica’s bed. When Carol shows up, out of her trademark jacket and spiked hair, she looks, if not completely like she did a year ago, much closer to the friend Jessica grew up with. Jessica loves Carol either way, but it is kind of nice to see the old Carol for a change.

Carol makes polite conversation with Jess’s mom until her mom gets the hint that she’s not needed. Once she’s gone, Carol’s expression changes from neutral happiness to doubt. Her forehead creases in worry.

“I’m sure you’ve got questions, Care Bear,” Jessica starts, “but very first, come here.”

She holds her arms out for Carol, and Carol smiles weakly as she sits on the bed and lets Jessica draw her into a hug. Jessica is weak, but not bedridden despite her mother’s feelings on the subject, and she squeezes her friend tight, breathing her in. Everything is better when they’re together.

After a good half minute of holding each other tight, Jessica eases her grip and lets Carol go. “So go ahead. I’ve got answers if you’ve got questions.”

Carol stands and paces. “Before we get into that, I should probably tell you, people at school know you’re ‘sick’ sick, and there’s a very good chance it’s my fault.”

Jessica listens, heartbeat crushing her chest, as Carol recounts what she believes happened, how the letter she meant to throw away got lost and how students were gossiping about it later. 

But after Carol sits back down on the bed, deflated and defeated, Jessica draws a deep breath and sighs.

“If you want me to leave, I understand,” Carol says. She won’t meet Jessica’s eyes.

Jessica could be furious, or hurt, or beg off weakness to get Carol to go home--and she considers that last for a moment--but it was an honest mistake. People were always going to find out, and blaming someone else, especially Carol who snuck out last night just to make sure Jess was okay after their fight, is counterproductive.

“Look at me, Carol,” Jessica says. “Up here.” When Carol finally meets her eyes, there are unshed tears ready to fall. Jessica’s chest tightens and she sucks in a breath to control her own tears.

“Carol,” she says again, holding her hands out for her friend, who reluctantly takes them in her own. Carol’s hands are warm where Jessica’s are cold, a side effect of the treatments. She pulls Carol’s hands to her chest, just below her neck.

“I’m sick, Care Bear. The kind of sick that doesn’t go away. The kind of sick that ends with me in a coffin by the time I’m twenty.”

“That’s not--”

“It is. There are some things you don’t know about me, and there’s things I realize I don’t know about you now. This shouldn’t be one of them. I love you, Carol, and everyone was going to find out sooner or later that I’m someone to put their pity and sorrow onto.”

“I’m so sorry, Jess. For everything.”

“I know you are. And you don’t have to be. You don’t need to carry this burden.” Jessica smiles. “You asked if I wanted you to leave. Carol, you’re the one I want to stay. Someone who understands me, and my pain, and won’t treat me like a porcelain doll in need of constant care and protection.”

“You’re more like a Chucky doll,” Carol jokes weakly, and they both chuckle at the movie that scared the hell out of them last year.

“Damn right I am.”

Carol sighs and hugs her friend, deeply, truly. The kind of hug Jessica only vaguely remembers from her father’s long trips out of the country when she was much younger and hadn’t seen him for months. It is water in the desert.

Carol says, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry it happened. And I won’t ever pity you, because I’m sure something will come along to fix it. And if it doesn’t, you’re too stubborn to leave me here all alone, anyway.”

Jessica wishes that is true.

Carol hesitates, but then says, “I want to tell you about my internship. All of it, the real thing and not the cover story I’ve been peddling. It isn’t just a company working in aeronautics.

“It’s everything, and so much more. Jess, I flew today!”

 

Footnote: 

1: WSO - Weapon Systems Officer. In the US Air Force, a WSO is the second chair in some fighter jets and other aircraft, in charge of deployment of weapons while the forward pilot flies the plane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for Part 1! Carol's high school and intern adventures are going to continue, and there'll be new faces along the way, as well as the people Carol has come to rely on thus far. I hope you'll stick around, because in two weeks, "Part 2: Powers and Promises" will begin!


End file.
